


Married In My Mind

by 1_800_FRERARD



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, Frerard, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 82,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2068299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1_800_FRERARD/pseuds/1_800_FRERARD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard Way thought he'd found the best way to cope with his unrequited love. He stumbled upon the world of MCR fanfiction after googling his best friend's name a few months ago. Since then he's written a handful of popular works of fiction under a cryptic pen name with hundreds of subscribers and comments.</p><p>No one is exactly sure who originally found out (or how) but does that really matter now? The entire fanbase knows about it. The band knows about it. Frank knows about it.</p><p>Gerard has to save his band and the most important friendship he's ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. L-A-T-E

I quickly made my way down the hall, a stack of tattered notebooks under my arm. It was normal for me to be late to band practice but this was different. I was late with a capital L.  
Late.  
I had stayed up most of the night writing new material and I couldn't wait to show the band. I had overslept by about 2 hours but once they got the chance to look over the new lyrics I knew they'd forget all about it.  
I burst through the door to find the room silent and mostly empty. Mikey sat on a chair in the corner looking at his phone.  
"I was wondering when you were gonna show up." He said. "Jesus Christ, Gerard."  
"Mikes, where the fuck is everyone? I was up all night writing. I have so many song ideas I need to show you." I flipped open to my crowning achievement and set it on top of a stack of instrument cases and motioned for Mikey to come closer. The lyrics had hit me suddenly yesterday afternoon and I had kept writing and writing until I felt completely drained. Now that I was actually in the studio I was anxious to put music to the words. M got up slowly and sauntered across the room, but crossed his arms and looked at me intently instead of staring at the page.  
"Gerard... when was the last time you checked the internet? Or you know, your phone?"  
"I guess uh... probably yesterday morning? I think my phone died then. Why? What's going on? Seriously. Where is everyone? Why aren't you excited about this?"  
  
"Gerard. Listen... uh,"  
I gawked at him, begging him to just be out with it so that we could get on with the music.   
"Uh... so some of our fans kind of stumbled across your uh... writing." he mumbled.  
"My.... _writing?_ " I asked.   
No. No. _Nonononononono._  
"Your... _fanfiction?_ " He clarified, raising his eyebrows and waiting for his words to sink in.  
"Oh." Was all I could say after a terrifying moment of silence.    
"At first I thought it was just typical rumors... but there's some pretty convincing evidence. And well, it looks like you're not denying it." A grin spread across his lips.  
"Fuck." I whispered.  
"Yeah. 'Fuck.'" Mikey agreed, "Frank read some of it and he’s pretty pissed. Or maybe just confused? I’m not sure. He stormed out of here pretty quickly this morning. You know how he is."  
"Yeah…. Yeah." I mumbled pathetically. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_. "What about Bob and Ray?"  
"They wanted you to know they're grateful you didn't write very much about them." He chuckled, only trying to control the smile on his face when he saw the look of horror on my face. "Don’t worry. They're not mad at you. I suggested everyone go home and take a few days off so you and me can work on damage control. They said they're not gonna answer any questions."  
"Damage control?" I breathed.  
"Yeah. Alternative Press has already called me twice looking for comments from the band. And Brian’s been trying to call you all day."  
  
It was bad enough that Frank knew about it, but the whole fanbase? Alternative Press? This was _music news._ MTV, Fuse, Kerrang!.... a wave of nausea washed over me. I sat in the closest chair. More like, fell into it. The legs scraped against the linoleum flooring, breaking the otherwise eerie silence.   
  
"Fuck."  
"Yeah... 'Fuck' is right..." Mikey repeated.   
"I need to call Frank." I blurted.  
"Good luck with that. He's not answering his phone. At least, not when I call. Maybe he’d pick up for you..." Mikey singsonged, waggling his eyebrows.  
"What the fuck am I gonna do?" I groaned.  
"I honestly don't know what to tell you, Gee. I love you and I'll help you through this as much as I can but... uh... I don't actually have any advice for managing this situation." he said, glancing at me carefully. "But we'll get through this. I promise."  
I buried my head in my hands and just focused on breathing in and out. The sinking feeling in my chest kept growing and growing but I was still completely in shock. Where had I miss-stepped? How had anyone found out about this? I thought I had been so careful.  
  
"One question..." Mikey requested lightly.  
"Mmmmmmmm." I groaned.  
"How much of it is true? I mean, obviously Frank's not a vampire or anything, but like, how long have you felt that way about him? Are you actually in love with him?"  
"That's technically two questions..." I pointed out.  
"Gerard..." he sighed patiently.  
“It’s true. All of it.” I mumbled sadly. “What _the fuck_ are we going to do? I've so royally fucked up. Frank's never going to talk to me again.”  
My eyes stung with tears. I felt Mikey’s hand gently slide onto my shoulder.  
“Shut up, Gerard. He didn’t say he’s leaving the band.” Mikey  
“He’s definitely leaving the band.” I breathed.   
“Well…” Mikes paused. “Even if he does we’ll find a new guitarist. Things will be fine no matter what. I promise, dude.”  
“How can you be so sure?” I mumbled, fighting against the lump in my throat.  
“Because,” he chuckled. “The only person who’s mad about this is Frank. As long as it doesn’t get in the way of our music everyone will forget about this in no time.”  
I wanted to point out how wrong he was but I smiled weakly and nodded.  
“Come on, let’s call Brian.”


	2. Definitely Not Metal

I sat in the passenger seat of my Mikey’s car later that afternoon, just staring at my phone and thumbing over the call button.   
The worst thing was that I couldn’t talk to my best friend. I was still in shock. It hadn’t really sunk in that I had done something that could fuck everything up, not just for me and Frank, but for the whole fucking band. Remorse was starting to settle in the pit of my stomach as I thought over all the ridiculous romantic scenes I had written. They were nothing compared to the millions of times I’d thought about kissing him, holding him, being with him. My fingers just instinctively scrolled through my phone until they landed on “Frank” over and over.  
  
The second worst thing about all of it was the backlash. The first thing I did after talking to Brian was go and delete the account the stories had been posted to in order to try and minimize the damage. The stories had been copied and pasted or screen-capped onto dozens of other blogs in a seemingly endless chain. E-mails. Calls. Texts. Tweets. Blog posts. I tried not to look too much because I knew it would only freak me out more. Everyone was trying to guess what was going to happen next. Talk of band breakup or Frank leaving the band. Some people were even trying to guess if any of our songs were written about Frank. So many bizarre rumors had started in the 24 hours since it had gotten out.  
  
“Don’t look at that stuff, Gerard.” Mikey said sternly, grabbing my phone when he’d glanced over and noticed me scrolling through twitter. He slid it into his pocket.  
“But what if Frank calls?” I whined.  
He thought it over a moment before handing it back.  
“Fine. You can have it, but no twitter.” He commanded.   
I took the phone back and held it protectively.  
“You need some cheering up. No one can handle this level of damage control on an empty stomach. Wanna order takeout and watch some scary movies?” Mikey offered.  
“No. I just want something to hang myself with…” I replied glumly.  
 M let out a long, dramatic sigh.   
“You know how ridiculous you’re being, right? Just _fucking call him._ " Mikey groaned, "He's probably freaking out just as much as you are.”  
“What am I supposed to tell him?” I groaned. “I can’t just call him up and say ‘hey, sorry I’m in love with you and everyone knows about it. Let’s pretend I’m not so we can record the rest of the album.’”  
Mikey just laughed and shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road.   
My heart immediately started racing as I stared at the screen. I scrolled quickly to Frank’s name and pressed the call button. I held my breath as I brought the phone to my ear. It rang, piercing anxious daggers into my heart. It rang again and went to voicemail. I hung up, deeply uninterested in pouring my heart out into a 30 second message.  
“It went to voicemail.” I reported grimly.  
“We could try calling his girlfriend?” Mikes suggested.  
“Yeah. I’m sure that’ll go over well.” I laughed miserably.  
  
Once we got to my apartment with our takeout, Mikey’s phone rang. My heart leapt as he stared at the screen. He told me it was Brian before disappearing into the other room to take the call. I poked at a piece of steamed broccoli miserably as some shitty movie about vampires played as nothing more than background noise.  
Mikey returned to the room a few minutes later, expressionless and collected as always, which was actually pretty annoying considering.   
“Alright. So. I’m not sure if this is good or bad news...” He paused to gauge my reaction. “Brian got a call from Frank. I guess he broke his phone and if we want to talk to him we have to call Jamia’s phone. Which is good, it explains why he didn’t pick up when you called earlier…”  
  
It had rung once... He must have broken his phone because **_I_** called. And now, if I wanted to talk to Frank I had to call Jamia, who probably wanted me dead.  
  
“Brian said that when he asked Frank about you he said he didn’t want to talk about it and hung up...” he continued.  
I felt sick, suddenly. It was so weird to think that Frank was out there somewhere and that he was furious with me. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.  
“That doesn’t mean anything though, Gerard. Don’t freak out about it. Just because he doesn’t want to talk to Brian about you doesn’t mean _anything_.”  
“Can you just punch me in the face so I can wake up from this stupid nightmare.” I groaned. A sympathetic grin spread across Mikey’s face.  
“Brian says my job for the night is to keep your mind off things... Beyond that, you and Frank need to work something out. Brian and the rest of the band agree that this can’t get in the way of recording. It’s the only way to avoid bad press. He’s going to release a statement saying we’re recording as normal. No one’s leaving the band.”  
  
I nodded so he knew I’d heard him, but didn’t trust myself to speak. A small wave of relief washed over me. Even if things were going to be fucked up between me and Frank forever, it didn’t seem like it was going to destroy our band. No one wanted it to come to that.   
  
“Anyway, so Bob texted me. Some of his metalhead friends are throwing a party tonight - you wanna go? Bob said they probably won’t know who we are so we can forget about Frank and the drama and everything else for the night.”  
“Sounds good.” I mumbled.  
“Great!” He chimed, giving me a quick hug. “You don’t look very metal though. You should put on something black. Can I borrow your Iron Maiden t-shirt or something?”  
I stared down at my flannel and blue jeans. Definitely not metal…  
“Yeah. You can borrow whatever.” I mumbled.  
“Fuck, Gerard. Stop acting so gloomy. You cannot act like this at the party, ok?”  
“Ok.” I groaned.  
“Promise me.”  
“I promise.”  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I stood in the kitchen at this guy’s house, drinking some tonic water, in black jeans and an Iron Maiden sweatshirt Mikey had insisted I wear. It seemed like a foolproof way to disguise that I wasn’t drinking alcohol. Fizzy water in a red plastic party cup always threw people off. After a while they’d get too drunk to notice I was completely sober. It had never failed me before.  
  
I had been keeping it together pretty well for awhile. Bob had been so kind as to introduce me to his dozens of tattooed friends with crazy piercings, facial hair and t-shirts of black metal bands I didn’t recognize. They were all in " **this"** band or worked at “that” tattoo shop or hung around “that” biker gang. They all seemed to have interesting lives and it was nice to be lost in a crowd of people who didn’t know who I was and didn’t care. It distracted me from the sinking feelings of remorse.  
But my mind was still so stuck on Frank that after an hour or so I needed to just hang out alone in the kitchen and collect myself. I stared vacantly at the half-empty bottles of different liquors lining the counter. It felt wrong to look at them when I was so weak. I turned my head and noticed a glass door leading out the back of the house. A cigarette suddenly sounded so good. I opened the door and stepped out into the warm summer night. My footsteps were the only sound in the dark garden. I lit a cigarette and smoked in the dark silence, letting my thoughts trail off wherever they wanted to. Thinking about what had happened was like opening a flood gate or circulating thoughts and self-loathing. It felt safe to let my mind work it's exhausting circles in the darkness of the garden. Shadows cast across the lawn, exaggerating the shapes of plants in terrifying distortions.  
  
I heard muffled voices coming from behind me in the house. I turned around and peered through the window and immediately choked on the puff of smoke I had just inhaled. Frank was standing in the kitchen, in the exact spot I had been standing just 5 minutes before. He was yelling at Bob. His colorful hands waved dramatically in the air, his brow furrowed. His eyes were red, though I couldn’t tell if he had been crying or if he was just stoned. I stepped back into the shadows so that they couldn’t see me. They were too busy yelling at each other to look out the windows, but it didn't hurt to conceal myself. My phone buzzed in my pocket, I pulled it out. It was Mikey, of course.  
“Hey M.” I sighed.   
“Gerard. Where the fuck are you?” He asked nervously.   
“I’m out for a smoke.” I told him, still gazing at Frank and Bob yelling in the kitchen.  
I heard Mikey sigh heavily on the other end. “I think Frank’s here. I don’t know why. Someone must’ve invited him.”  
“Oh.” I replied, playing stupid.  
“We can leave if you want.” Mikey continued, "In fact, we probably should."   
“Yeah." I agreed, "I’ll come find you when I’m done with my smoke.”  
“Okay.” He sighed again. “I’m so fucking sorry, Gee. The point of tonight was to keep him off your mind. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear.” He groaned.  
“I know, M. I believe you. See you in a few.” I told him and dropped the call.  
  
Frank and Bob were still arguing. To my horror, Frank turned and headed for the back door.  
“This is _so fucking **UNCOOL**_ , Bob!” He yelled as he pulled open the door. He slammed the door behind him. The pane of glass in the door shuddered at the force but did not shatter.   
_“Fuck.”_ He groaned into the dark, rubbing his face with his hands. Crying - not stoned - I decided.  
I coughed so he knew he wasn’t alone.  
“Fuck!" He gasped, face darting up as he stared into the dark. "You scared me.”  
He chuckled warily, turning my direction. I puffed hard on my cigarette trying to figure out what the fuck to do. He'd seen me. I supposed I could walk away but I couldn't get my feet to move.   
“Hey dude uh, can I bum a cigarette? I’m having one hell of a night.” he said sadly.  
“Of course.” I said, my voice still raspy from choking on smoke. I couldn’t read his face in the dark, but it didn't seem like he'd figured out it was me yet.  
“I’m Frank, by the way.” He said, his voice still erratic. He was trying hard to compose himself. The thought of him being upset enough to cry was really freaking me out.  
I fumbled to hand him a cigarette and my lighter as quickly as possible.  
“Frank, um... I think we need to talk.” I said, struggling to keep my voice composed.   
He immediately froze.  
“ _Gerard?_ ” He hissed, barely above a whisper.  
“Hi.” I laughed, in spite of myself.  
  
“Oh _fuck no._ ” He muttered and started for the door, letting the unlit cigarette and lighter fall into the grass.  
“Frank! Wait!” I called. “Stop! Can we talk for just a second? Smoke a cigarette with me. I’ll never ask anything of you ever again.” I said. My heart was thudding in my chest. My hands were trembling.   
  
He paused for a moment, still facing the house. At least he wasn't walking away. I waited in silence, afraid that if I said another word he'd be walking away forever.   
Eventually he turned to look at me.  
“Ok… _fine._ ” he sighed. "One cigarette." 


	3. REJECTED

“I kind of… dropped your lighter somewhere though. Sorry...” Frank said, letting out a nervous, breathy laugh. I pulled out my phone to shed some light on where I thought he might have dropped it. His scuffed up converse appeared as he shuffled closer to me awkwardly.  
“That’s ok. I found it.’ I said, picking up the small plastic device.  
I passed him another cigarette and the lighter. He took them reluctantly, fingers brushing against mine. We had touched a thousand times before but it felt different now. I could feel both of us calculating the meaning of every movement. It was making everything unbearably tense.  
He brought the cigarette to his lips and lit it with trembling hands. I watched the flame shakily connect with the end of the thin, white tube. I was relieved he was as nervous as I was, but it made me feel 10 times worse to think it was my fault we were this uncomfortable to be alone together.  
  
“Frank?” I asked quietly. “Are you ok?”  
“Me? I’m fine. Totally fine.” He lied.   
“I’m… I’m sorry I’m here." I said softly, "If I’d known you were going to be here I would've stayed home...”  
He sucked on his cigarette in silence. The quiet was too much to handle.   
“And I’m sorry about…” I paused, not wanting to admit to my actions in full detail. “I’m sorry about everything, really.”  
“I just don’t get it.” He sighed. “What the _fuck_ , Gerard? I am so fucking... _confused._ I mean you wrote about us like- _God_ I can’t even say it out loud.” He groaned.  
“I’m so sorry, Frank.” I breathed, trying to keep my composure. I was so thankful for the darkness of the garden. I couldn’t see his obvious disgust and he couldn’t see how terrified I was.  
  
"I read what you wrote about me." He paused to let out a slow, careful breath. "Gerard, those aren't feelings I can ever return..."  
It hurt to hear him say it out loud. I'd known he was going to say it eventually but nervous, ragged pain still cut through me, destroying the last of the hopes that I'd had that everything was going to be just fine.   
"I don't care." I lied. "I just want to be friends. I want you to forget about all this so we can be how we've always been."  
"I can't." He whispered. “It doesn’t work that way.”  
"Why not?"  
"Because you're in love with me. Am I supposed to just pretend you're not?" I could hear a hint of irritation in his voice. "Like, you're not even denying it right now."   
"I want you to try." I said, with as much sincerity as I could muster.  
A silence hung over us as I tried to choose my next words carefully.  
"Look. We can't be friends anymore. Or at least, not for now..." Frank sighed, beating me to the punch.   
"What?" I choked.  
"I know how you get when someone rejects you, Gerard..." He explained, "And that’s essentially what I’m doing right now. I can’t sit around and watch it happen, knowing it's my fault. It’s not right. I still want to record an album with you but I don’t want to see you outside of the studio."  
The conversation was going much worse than I had ever imagined.  
"Frank..." I breathed, at a total loss for words.  
"I gotta go. I'll see around, okay?" He said, dropping his cigarette into the grass.   
  
I heard the quiet rustle of his footsteps in the grass but I didn't turn to watch him go back into the house. I stared off into the dark, instead. I didn't want to watch him go. I tried to pretend I didn't hear the swing of the door creaking open or the sound of it clicking shut behind him.  
I tried to pretend I didn't exist.  
I was doing a great job of pretending until my phone started buzzing in my pocket. I didn't realize I had been crying until I tried to speak. I walked around the house and headed for Mikey’s car. He was already waiting by the passenger side door.  
I offered to drive us back to his apartment because he had had a little too much to drink.  
  
"He probably didn't mean it." Mikey said, after I'd recounted my conversation with Frank, "He's just freaked out."  
"I can't believe this." I groaned, swiping away at tears as we drove down a quiet Jersey street. All the streets looked the same and I could only vaguely remember which way would take us back to the expressway.   
“Fuck Frank.” Mikey spat once I’d pulled onto the expressway. “You don’t need him.”  
“Thanks Mikey.” I replied miserably. "But we kind of do need him."   
“Whatever." Mikey grumbled, "Frank’s a fucking asshole. I can’t believe he would say that shit to you.”  
“He’s just doing what he thinks is best.” I mumbled. "I mean, he's got a bad temper. Maybe it's good if we spend some time apart."   
“No fucking way!” M argued. “Don’t defend him. He’s a terrible fucking friend. Fuck him.”  
It was nice to have Mikey on my side, but it didn’t make it all hurt any less.  
“You shouldn’t talk like that, M. I don’t want you and Ray and Bob picking sides. That’s not right.” I told him.  
"I am not picking sides. I think you're both stupid." Mikey said.   
"I dunno. I think I'm the one who's in the wrong here." I said.  
"If I'm not allowed to pick sides, then neither are you." Mikey countered.   
"I'm not-"  
“Yeah, you are. But whatever.” He interrupted, punching on the radio.  
We sat in silence the rest of the way home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Frank kept true to his word. In the week that followed he didn’t even bother to contact me. Not once. No phonecalls. No e-mails. No texts.   
I told Brian we had talked and that the album would go as planned. Mikey was the only one who knew what Frank and I had actually said to each other.  
I spent most of the week in bed. Brian had suggested that we postpone practice until the following week just so “everyone had time to calm down”. By “everyone” I knew he meant Frank.  
The few times I’d left my apartment had been awful. I’d pass a liquor store and think about going in. I’d been sober for awhile but after all the bullshit with Frank happened I couldn’t remember why I’d bothered to get clean in the first place.  
Nothing _mattered_ to me.  
Mikey said it was just the depression talking and that I had to stay strong. It was easy enough for him to say things like that with a drink in his hand.  
  
All of a sudden it was Monday and I was in my standard Gerard-Way-is-20-minutes-late position. Everyone except Frank looked up when I stepped into the studio.  
“Hey guys...” I said weakly. “Sorry I’m late.”  
“Nothing new!” Bob said cheerily sitting behind his drum set and adjusting the snare.  
Frank and Ray were sitting across from one another tuning their guitars. Mikey put down his base and grabbed my arm.  
“Gerard. Uh… I need to talk to you really quick.” he mumbled, dragging me as far away from the others as possible.  
“What is it?” I whispered.  
 _“Frank and Jamia broke up.”_ he whispered, tickling my ear.  
“What?” I said a little too loudly. Too loudly for Frank’s liking, anyway…  
  
“Seriously?” Frank called over to us. “I’m right here. Do you guys have to talk about it _right this second?_ ”  
“I was just trying to explain to Gerard why you’re being such a fucking asshole today.” Mikey snapped, death-glaring at Frank.  
“Guys **please** don’t do this.” Ray whined.  
Frank set his guitar down and started towards the door.  
“Frank, wait!” Ray called. “Gerard’s showing us some new songs he wrote. Please stay.” He turned to look at Mikey. “Not another word from you, M.” He gritted out sternly.  
Frank ran a hand through his hair and sighed dramatically but returned to his seat beside Ray.  
  
I pulled out my notebook and starting going over the new material. Most of the instrumental writing was crafted by Ray. Frank added his parts, making sure not to speak to anyone and to avoid eye contact with me at all costs.  
I tried to keep my mind off of Frank’s breakup. I had to tell myself a million times that it didn’t mean anything. But I just kept wondering, _why?_ I was worried about him, not as a person who was in love with him, but as his friend. He’d been dating Jamia _forever_.  
I was terrified by the possibility that it was somehow my fault.  
  
Frank and I quickly found a comfortable rhythm in avoiding each other. We wordlessly made sure to never take cigarette or bathroom breaks at the same time. Mikey made trips to the soda machine for me so I couldn’t bump into him in the hallway. We made eye contact once in the entire day and my heart lurched at the pain I saw in his eyes, mirroring my own. I made sure not to look in his direction for the rest of the day.  
I don’t think we could have handled our incredibly awkward situation any more gracefully.  
  
As soon as Bob complained he was tired and wanted to go home we all agreed to call it a day. Mikey escorted me to my car to prevent any awkward run-ins with Frank in the parking lot. It wouldn’t have happened anyways, I'd pointed out; Frank was avoiding me like the plague.  
  
And honestly? It made me want a drink _even more._

 

 

 


	4. Oblivion

Wednesday had been going _miserably_.  
  
Maybe that was how I’d found myself at the back of a punk venue with Bert fucking McCracken. We didn’t really hang out anymore, not since I’d gotten clean. He still texted me often, inviting me to this and that, asking how I was doing.  
He’d always been my partner in crime back before I’d sobered up. It wasn’t something either of us could forget about. When a person sees you at your darkest hour, you never forget them. They never forget you.  
And that was what I assumed to be the reason that we’d kept in touch the past couple of years.  
  
After band practice I’d opened my phone to find a standard Friday-night text from Bert. He was going to a show and wanted to know if I wanted to come. I usually told him “no”. In fact, I almost always told him “no”. There’d be alcohol. There’d be drugs. I knew that.  
But there was something undeniably different about tonight. I’d politely declined Mikey’s invitation to go out to dinner with the rest of the band. Mikey pointed out that Frank would be going and, under his breath, mentioned it would be a good opportunity to try and make things right with him.  
  
I wasn’t really hungry, I’d told him. Not for food anyways.  
I was hungry for _oblivion._  
  
And “oblivion” was the exact feeling that washed over me as Bert passed me a can of beer. I stared at the unopened can for a long moment, thinking about the years I’d spent not doing exactly what I was about to do right now. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.  
I looked over at Bert who had almost finished chugging the beer he’d just opened.  
It was just one beer. I’d have one. Maybe two.  
  
But that wasn’t how things went.  
Two doubled into four.  
Four became five.  
Six.  
Seven.  
Eight? I’d suddenly lost count.  
Back in the days I could knock down 10 or 15 easy, but my empty stomach just couldn’t handle all of the poison. I headed to the bathroom to throw it up. I’d feel better if I could just puke some.  
I dashed into one of the stalls and immediately started to retch.  
I hadn’t noticed that Bert had followed me to the bathroom until he knocked on the door to the stall.  
“Gerard? That you?” he muttered.  
“Yeah. It’s me.” I replied. My throat burned. My voice sounded tiny and far away.  
“I uh, I got something for you.. If you want it.”  
I wiped the slime off my chin and opened the door. Bert immediately stepped in, and locked the stall door behind him. He produced a small bag of coke from his pocket. A shit-eating grin spread across his face.  
“Listen. I know you’ve been clean for awhile now. But I figured, since you came out tonight and everything, that you’d be interested. And this is good shit, Gee. Real good. You can say ‘no’ of course. I just thought I would share.”  
Even in my drunken stupor I could tell he’d already sampled the white product in the palm of his hand.  
“It’d be just like old times!” He whispered excitedly, flashing me that friendly smile I loved so much.  
Fuck it.  
Fuck everything.  
  
The coke did it’s job: taking the edge off of the booze. Everything was clearer as I stepped out of the bathroom. Faces of strangers sped by me in the darkness. I followed Bert through the crowd to the back of the venue. He passed me another beer.  
Bert talked and laughed, telling me story after story. People came up to say hello to him. Some of them even recognized me from when I used to hang around places like this. He passed a few dudes the little bags, just like the one we’d shared in the bathroom. I sipped my beer gingerly, feeling full of its oblivion and overwhelmed by the flood of all things I’d denied myself all this time. Bert was hanging off of me; his arm was wrapped around my shoulder loosely. Every now and then he’d whisper in my ear, checking in on me and making sure I was having fun and not feeling too weird.  
As fucked up as this destructive evening was, Bert was a good friend in a twisted way.  
  
After a while we stepped outside for a cigarette. We stood outside the venue laughing and falling over each other. I nearly avoided burning his long black hair with my cigarette over and over. I wasn’t sure how it had happened but I had another beer in my hand. I was forgetting things more and more. I hadn’t looked at my phone in several hours. I had no clue what time it was.  
  
My head snapped up at the harsh mention of my name.  
“Gerard? What the fuck are you doing here!?” a voice called.  
I faced the direction of the angry voice and found Frank was standing in front of me. His eyes darted between my face, Bert’s face and the can in my hand.  
“ _Are you fucking kidding me?_ ” He snarled, knocking my beer out of my hand.  
“Whoa. Hey man. Chill out…” Bert slurred beside me, holding my hand. “Can someone get this guy a beer?”  
“What are you doing here, Frank?” I asked, trying to sound as irritated as possible.  
“I came to see a band. What the fuck are _you_ doing here?”  
“Hanging around with Bert. You know... Whatever.” I sighed. Frank had a look of pure horror on his face.  
“Oh my god. Gerard, _you’re fucked up_. I need to get you out of here. Right. Now.” He spat. “You’re going to regret this tomorrow. Fuck.” He reached for my arm but I didn’t budge. I pulled away from his grip. _Good_ , I thought.  
“Frank, I’ve got to be honest with you. You’re being a buzzkill right now. In fact, you’re ruining my night. I’d actually managed to forget about you for 5 seconds and here you are, you know, **_ruining it_**.” I told him flatly.  
I didn’t mean it like that. It just came out that way. His frown tightened.  
The last thing I could remember after that was Frank Iero punching me in the face as hard as he could.  
Then nothing.  
 **Just oblivion.**  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I never dreamed when I drank this much, but for whatever reason I dreamed...  
In my dream my head was laying in Frank’s lap in the back of a cab. He held my face in his hands and stroked my hair gently. Tears were streaming down his face. Sometimes they landed on me. He just let them fall without bothering to wipe them away.  
Frank was so beautiful. It was all I could think about as I stared up at his sad face. I wanted to tell him but I couldn't seem to speak. Even when he was crying he was beautiful. He was saying stuff to me but I couldn’t understand any of it.  
I wanted to tell him I loved him but he already knew.  
  
That was the problem, wasn’t it?  
He knew everything that I thought about him and I didn’t know what he thought about me.

 


	5. Hungover

I woke up in a dark, unfamiliar room. I had somehow made it to a bed at least. I was thankful for that, I suppose. I found it concerning that it wasn’t my bed, especially since I felt an arm draped around my waist. It felt like I still had all of my clothes on, which was a good sign. It didn’t necessarily mean I hadn’t done something I was going to regret, but it was still a good sign.  
I let out a careful breath and tired to work backwards.   
I remembered Bert, I remembered the venue. I’d drank a couple beers, snorted a lot of cocaine… we went out for a cigarette. And then…  
Oh no… _Frank._  
  
I reached a hand up to rub my face but quickly ripped it away from the stinging sensation as my fingers brushed over the tender bruising under my eye. My head had never hurt as much as it  hurt and I desperately needed to throw up. My tongue felt like it had been pickled and my throat felt like it had been used as an ashtray all night.  
“Gerard? Are you awake?” a wrecked, breathy voice asked.  
“Yeah.” I whispered nervously.  
“How’s your head?” the voice I suddenly recognized as Frank’s asked timidly. A smile spread across my lips as I realized I was in Frank’s room. It hurt to smile (or really move my face at all) but I couldn’t stop myself.  
“It hurts... You fucking punched me in the face.” I chuckled.  
“I know. I’m sorry. You deserved it...” he whispered. The arm around my waist tightened.  
  
My heart began beating rapidly, suddenly terrified that I’d slept with him and didn’t remember.  
“Frank… we didn’t uh… you know?” I asked.  
“Didn’t what? Oh… no…” He said stiffly, shifting slightly.  
“Good.” I blurted. I slid my arm on top of the one that was draped over mine.  
I bit my tongue. My head was still swimming with alcohol. I tried to swallow my nausea and focus on Frank. I’d woken up in the same room as him plenty of times on tour and stuff but I’d never woken up in his arms before. I wanted to hold this in my head. He was so warm and soft and he smelled good. I never wanted to forget what it felt like to wake up next to him.  
“Why is that… good?” He asked gently. “I mean I agree, but…”  
I rolled over to face him. He slid his arm to the same spot on my waist, his fingertips trailed small circles on my back.  
“I want to remember our first time.” I whispered. My cheeks got warm as I realized what I’d just said. “I mean, if we ever…” I corrected, trailing off.  
He pushed me onto my back, pinning me to the mattress by my shoulders.  
 _“How fucking dare you.”_ He hissed.  
“I…Frank, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest anything.” I stammered.  
“No, you fucking idiot. You relapsed! Honestly, Gerard. I’m away from you for one week and you fucking **relapse** on me?!”  
“I’m sorry...” I said weakly.  
“How **dare** you?” He repeated, his voice breaking. “How could you?”  
He buried his face in my chest. “I was so scared, Gee. You could have _died_.”  
I cautiously wrapped my arms around him.  
“How dare you?” He whispered. He was sniffling quietly. “How dare you?” he repeated over and over.  
His lips brushed over my cheek, right where I could tell a colorful bruise would eventually form. Wet tears smeared against my cheek. The pain of the contact brought on a new wave of nausea.  
“Frank.” I breathed, trying to push him back gently.  
“Never scare me like that again, asshole.” He whispered, his lips ghosted over my bruised cheek bone. My stomach quivered and my blood ran cold.  
“Frank. Please.” I pushed him back a little harder.  
Just my luck. I was in Frank’s bed with him practically on top of me, kissing my face, worrying about me, crying about me - and I was too hungover to do anything about it.  
He pulled off of me and slid back to his previous place by my side, draping his arm over me again.  
“I’m sorry. I’m just so hungover. I love you but I can’t…” I shut my mouth hard. I couldn’t believe I’d said that out loud. _Fuck._ I felt his whole body tense up beside me.  
“Shit. I’m sorry.” I breathed. “I didn’t mean to- I can’t think straight...”  
An awkward silence fell over us. He didn’t seem too upset because he kept his arm around me. He might have even held me tighter, but I couldn’t tell, the twitch in his arm was so small. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest. I was sure he could feel it which only made me more nervous.  
“Don’t apologize...” He said softly.  
He propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over me. His face was inches from mine, I could feel his warm breath against my cheek His fingertips slid along my jaw as I felt his lips gently press against mine. I kissed back carefully.  
I couldn’t process it. Just last week he told me he couldn’t return my feelings and that we couldn’t be friends. Now he was telling me I shouldn’t be sorry for loving him as he kissed me carefully in his bed. I must have skipped the day in school where they taught you how to manage being in love with your best friend because I was so lost.  
  
He pulled away slowly and reached across me to turn on a lamp on the nightstand. The light hurt my eyes.  
“Let me look at your face.” he said quietly, taking my face in his hands and angling it to look at the bruising in the light. I stared at his pretty face as he poked at the skin around the bruise. He smiled when I winced at his touch.  
“Damn.” He said, with a weird note of pride in his voice. “You need to ice this… stay here.” He slid out of the bed and disappeared out the door.  
I reached up to poke at the bruising on my face and inspect the damage myself. It hurt. It _fucking_ hurt.

I laid there feeling pathetic. The room was swimming and it didn’t seem like it was just from the alcohol anymore. I’d never been in Frank’s bedroom before. It was a place I wanted to stay forever. The bed took up most of the tiny, messy room. There were clothes everywhere cluttering the floor and spilling out of drawers. Posters cluttered the walls, broken up only by Frank’s guitars, which hung from pegs. My Chem posters mixed in with show posters from his former punk days. Light poured around the edges of thick, drawn curtains hanging over a large window. It hurt to look in that direction. The light felt like someone was pushing daggers into my eyes. I directed my gaze towards the other side of the room. The drawer on the bedside table was hanging open. Guitar pics, aspirin bottles, a box of condoms… my heart fluttered. My mind flitted to a scene in a story I’d written where Frank was on top of me, kissing me softly and pressing a small foil package into my hand.  
I was pulled out of my thoughts of uses for condoms when he returned to the room with ice bundled in a cloth and a glass of water. Real Frank was much prettier than the Frank in my stories. His hair was messy and sticking out in all directions and he was wearing a bleach-stained oversized black shirt. It was almost as if fantasy Frank and real Frank were completely different people. They were, in a way. He sat beside me and opened one of the bottles in the open drawer and passed me 3 pills.  
“Take these. It should help with the swelling.” He said softly.   
I popped them into my mouth and took a sip of the water.  
He handed me the ice. I lifted it to my face but didn’t press it against the skin. It was going to hurt.  
He must have seen the fear in my eyes.  
“It’ll only hurt for a second. You need to ice it.” He put his hand over mine and pressed it closer to my face. The contact burned at first but after a moment the cold was a welcoming force against the pain.   
“You didn’t have to hit me so hard.” I groaned.  
“I’m sorry. I freaked out.” He mumbled. He kept his hand over mine and delicately brushed the back of my palm with his thumb. “You were fucked up and you basically said that it was all because of me... and the way you were hanging off _Bert McCracken_ …” His voice has lowered to a shaky whisper.   
I realized in that moment that Frank was incredibly nervous. And from the way he looked away as he said Bert’s name he seemed almost _jealous_. A small grin formed on my lips as this occurred to me. I instantly tried to stop because it hurt so much more with the ice in place.  
Our relationship couldn’t have been in worse shape at the moment, so I decided there was no harm in asking him, “Frank?”  
His eyes darted back to mine for a moment before he looked away again.  
“Wait. Frank?” I chuckled. “Are you… Jealous?”  
“No!” He shot back, he tried to look mad but his face flushed.  
“Bert’s just a friend...” I told him gently, only half teasing.  
“I’m not jealous you fucking idiot. He’s a _scumbag_. I don’t want you hanging around him.” He muttered darkly, but his face was still bright pink.  
I couldn’t wipe the smirk off of my face. It didn’t matter if he was jealous or not, making him squirm like that was priceless. He shot another quick glance at my face.  
“Oh fuck you.” he spat when he saw my smug expression. I couldn’t help but laugh.  
“Don’t make me smile, it hurts.” I whined.  
He rolled his eyes.  
I laid there in silence, staring at him with the bundled ice on my face. His gaze roamed around the room, focusing on anything but me. He didn’t say anything either. I wanted to tell him he was beautiful. I wanted to ask why he’d kissed me. I needed to know why I’d woken up in his arms instead of on his couch. But I didn’t know how to ask him anything without destroying this carefully spun web we had woven where he was comfortable to be alone with me.  
“I have to go to the studio soon.” He said, breaking my train of thought. “But you should stay here and sleep more... I think it would be too suspicious if neither of us showed up. Text Mikey and tell him you’re sick or something.”  
I opened my mouth to protest, but I closed it when I realized he’d told me to stay here, in his bed, in his apartment. I was speechless.  
“And you need to tell Mikey you relapsed... If you don’t tell him, I will.” he said sternly  
“He doesn’t need to know. It won’t happen again.” I whimpered.  
“No. You need to tell him, Gerard.”  
“He’ll be so disappointed...”  
“He’ll be even more upset if he finds out I knew about this and didn’t tell him.” He said carefully, brushing my face with his fingers.  
  
He slid off the bed and pulled the shirt over his head. I couldn’t help but stare at him as he got dressed. He disappeared out of the room and when he came back he had a leather jacket and sneakers on. He stepped around the bed and perched on the edge right next to me. He leaned in and pressed his lips to my forehead.  
“Get some sleep… and maybe take a shower. You smell like the floor of a bar.” He chuckled. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”  
He turned to smile at me one last time before slipping out the door. I laid back on the pillows and stared up at his poster-covered ceiling.  
“Oh and Gerard…” Frank called, poking his head through the doorway. “Don’t even bother looking for my drug stash. I flushed all the good stuff after I brought you here last night.” He winked and disappeared again.  
It was an alarmingly accurate prediction, even for him.  
He knew me too well.


	6. Borrowed

I admired my black eye in the bathroom mirror for a long time, realizing I’d have to come up with an explanation. I could see why Frank was proud of his work. The bruising around my eye was a violent dark purple, just a few shades away from black. I poked at it, tenderly. It looked worse than it felt. If I was still at school I would’ve taken a picture and called it art.

I decided I’d tell Mikey I got in a bar fight after I had so foolishly decided to start drinking again. He was the only one who would be comfortable enough to ask, anyways.  
I stood under the shower until the hot water ran cold. Everything about Frank was so much different than the way I’d written it - everything down to his choice in shampoo.  
After I toweled off I slipped on my jeans from the night before and carefully walked back to his room. I was still too dizzy and nauseous to bother with eating so searching the kitchen for something to take the edge off my hangover seemed pointless. I padded through his cluttered room until I found a big sweatshirt that smelled clean.  
I curled up in his bed and buried my face in the sleeves of his sweatshirt. It smelled just like Frank. Laundry and cigarettes and that secondary, indescribable scent that always lingered on his skin. I drifted off to sleep separating out the differences between real Frank and the Frank in my stories, trying to ignore the way the room spun every time I opened my eyes.  
  
\--  
  
I woke up when I felt the mattress beside me dip. It took me a moment to remember I was still in Frank’s apartment. The dizziness I’d felt earlier had been replaced with a sickening aching throughout my entire body. The room was pitch black aside from the small red numbers of the clock on the nightstand and a long, thin line of light coming in from the hallway where the door was cracked open.  
“Frank?” I croaked out. My voice was dry and low.  
“Hey sleeping beauty, how’s your head?” He asked softly as he curled up beside me. He buried his face in my neck and wrapped an arm around my middle. He drew in a long, slow breath.  
“It hurts.” I whispered. _And I'm sure there's nothing beautiful about me right now..._ I thought. I could feel my hair standing up in all kinds of directions from falling asleep with it still wet.   
“I bet it does. At least you don’t smell like the floor of a bar anymore...” He chuckled. He pressed his lips to my cheek.  
“How do you know what that even smells like?” It hurt to smile, but I smiled anyways. “How much time do you spend on bar floors?”  
“You know exactly how much time I spend on the floor.” he replied.  
I laughed hoarsely as I thought about Frank somersaulting around on stage. My face twitched, causing violent pains to shoot through my face. “Fuck. Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.” I breathed.  
He was quiet for a moment, breathing softly against my neck.   
“I really am sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to punch you so hard. I was just… so fucking… _mad at you._ ” He said darkly.  
“And you’re not anymore?” I asked softly.  
“Have you taken anything since the pills I gave you this morning?” He asked, ignoring my question.  
“No.” I replied, letting the other conversation drop completely.  
“Let’s get you some aspirin then…” He said evenly. He slid off the bed and disappeared out the bedroom door. The slant of light from the hallway widened, burning my eyes and sending ripples of pain through my skull.  
He’d talk about it when he was ready. My wrecked mind couldn’t be bothered to process the conversations we were going to need to have if we were ever going to sort out what I’d done. We were speaking again. Everything else would just have to wait until Frank was ready.  
  
He was back a few moments later with a glass of water and a new round of pills. I sat up and swallowed them, chugging the entire glass.  
“Frank, thanks for taking care of me like this. I can leave if you want.” I said.  
“I don’t want you to leave. Why would you think that?” He asked. His confusion sounded genuine.  
“Well I, um…” I trailed off, trying not to say _ruined your long-term relationship AND our friendship by writing extensive romantic fiction about us and then publishing it on the internet for all of our fans to read._  
“Please stay.” he insisted.  
“Okay.” I echoed quietly.  
  
“You must be starving… want me to make you something?” he asked.  
“Sure.”  
He reached for my hand and helped me out of the bed. Getting up was the last thing I wanted. I wanted him to hold me like he had this morning. I wanted to lay down and sleep in his arms forever.  
I followed him into the kitchen and leaned against the counter.  
“You can smoke in here.” He said, passing me over a pack of smokes. He busied himself searching through the cabinets.  
A cigarette was exactly what I needed. I lit up and watched as he maneuvered around the kitchen, getting stuff out of the fridge, and getting out plates. He would look up at me every so often with this expression I didn’t understand. He didn’t look mad, but I still couldn’t place what it was.  
I lit a second smoke after finishing the first. I stood there ashing into the sink, trying not to stare. I glanced over at the fridge. My heart lurched as my eyes fell over a string of photobooth printouts of Frank and Jamia together. Oh god. A few rumpled show flyers were taped up - upcoming gigs Frank wanted to attend, I guessed. A sketch I’d done during band practice a few years back was buried underneath other photographs of the band together.  
“The black eye actually looks pretty cool.” he commented. “Has the aspirin kicked in yet?”  
“Not yet.” I said, taking a drag. “The cigarettes are helping a lot though.”  
“You know what always helps me with hangovers?” he asked, taking a step closer to me.  
“Um, no. What?” I asked, crushing a cigarette butt against the sink.  
He took another step towards me, closing the space between us completely. My cheeks were burning as every single cell in my body rushed with the painful awareness of how close he was. I held my breath as he leaned in to press his lips against mine. His lip ring nudged into my bottom lip and I swear my heart stopped.  
Needless to say, it felt incredibly wrong to kiss back. A little voice at the back of my head was screaming at me that I was terrible friend for kissing back. Frank had just gotten out of an extremely long relationship. He was vulnerable, and desperate for someone to hold onto and I knew that. But regardless of how logical that little voice may have been it was completely silenced by the way his arms wrapped around my neck to pull me closer.  
I framed his face with my palms, sliding my fingertips into his hair. He sucked my lower lip between his lips and sighed into my mouth.  
I parted my lips to try and ask him if he was sure about this but he stole the opportunity to shove his tongue into my mouth. His hands slid down my torso and up under the borrowed sweatshirt. His lips trailed kisses down my jaw and onto my neck while his fingers gently caressed along my spine.  
“Frank, _please._ ” I whispered, not sure if I was asking him to stop or keep going. My fingers tangled in his hair. He slid a leg between mine and ground his hips against me, pushing me up against the fridge. I failed to suppress the desperate, lusty moan that had been building in my throat.  
“Please _what?_ ” he breathed against my skin, dragging his nails down my back.  
His lips found mine again. We kissed each other like we’d never see each other again, desperate and meaningfully and rushed.  
  
We both jumped at the wailing sound of the smoke alarm.  
“What the fuck!?” He squeaked.  
Whatever he had been cooking in the pan had set fire and was now shooting bright orange flames.  
“Call 911!” He shouted.  
“Frank, it’s fine!” I called over the shrieking alarm, fighting the urge to laugh at the fear in his eyes.  
“It’s not fine! My house is on fire!” He yelled reaching for his cellphone.  
I grabbed a pot lid off the counter and covered the flames.  
“See!?” I yelled. “Fire contained!”  
I stepped over to the screeching device and reached up to turn the alarm off.  
“You don’t remember that day in home ec, huh?” I chuckled. He shook his head, still clutching his chest. His lips were pink and swollen from kissing.  
“I think your pot is probably ruined… but your house isn’t going to burn down.” I told him softly. I pulled him into a hug. He buried his face in my chest. My fingers slid through his hair, trying to calm him down.  
“Sorry… I-I- I don’t cook much. Jamia usually…” He stammered. An anxious pang struck my chest to hear her name.  
“Promise me you won’t try to cook anything else on the stovetop for awhile, okay, Frankie?” I murmured, swallowing hard.  
He didn’t respond, he just slid his hands under the borrowed sweatshirt and wrapped himself around me. I pressed a careful kiss into his hair.  
“I’ll have an even harder time sleeping at night if I remember that you’re out there somewhere setting fire to your kitchen.” I told him softly.  
“Usually making out isn’t part of my cooking rituals...” He said in a tiny voice. I held him tighter, chuckling quietly.  
  
I heard my cellphone ringing somewhere in the apartment. I slid away from Frank and followed the sound of _Girlfriend In A Coma_. My phone was in the pocket of my jacket, slung over the couch. I answered when I saw Mikey’s name.  
“GERARD?! Is that you? Where the fuck are you!?” he yelled.  
“I’m uh… at my apartment. Sorry I didn’t make it into practice today. I wasn’t feeling well.”  
“Bullshit.” He spat.  
“... What?” I asked, chewing my lip. I glanced up at Frank, who was resting against the frame of the entrance to the living room. He chewed his fingernails absently, staring at me intently.  
“You’re not at your apartment…” He said, irritation thick in his voice. “ _I’m_ at your apartment and you’re not here. Where are you?”  
“Listen, M. We uh… we need to talk.” I sighed.  
“Yeah. I guess we do. Look, Gerard, I know Frank’s being a dick right now and I know you’re upset and all... but you can’t let him fuck this up for the rest of the band. Okay?” The phone had been pressed tightly to my ear but the volume was turned all the way up. Frank definitely heard Mikey's words and looked like he’d been slapped.  
I tried to mouth, sorry but he had already disappeared out of the room.  
“Okay...” I said vacantly. “I need to stop by my house and change but I need to see you. Can we grab dinner? Usual spot? In like, an hour and a half?” I asked.  
“Fine.” He said. “See you soon.”  
“Love you.” I said softly before dropping the call.  
  
I slid my phone in my pocket and went back to the kitchen. Frank was haunched over the sink, cigarette smoke curled around his hood-covered head.  
“Frank?” I called softly.  
He turned to look at me, eyes watery.  
“Do you think I’m fucking things up for the band?” He mumbled, voice wobbly.  
“No… Jesus, Frank. Mikey is just being defensive of me. He gets like this when it comes to… well, _yknow_? This kind of thing... I don’t think you’re fucking anything up.” I cooed, wrapping an arm around him.  
“Can I drive you home?” He asked suddenly, puffing his cigarette. A tear slid down his cheek.  
“Yeah… I’d like that.” I said, wiping the tear away with my thumb.  
  
We drove in silence. The car stereo quietly played a demo tape of some local band I couldn’t remember the name of.  
“Will you come over later?” Frank said quietly as put the car in ‘park’ in front of the entrance to my apartment building.  
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea...” I said, glancing over at him.  
By the light of the dashboard controls I could see pain in his face. His fingers gripped the gearshift tightly.  
“I just…” I sighed, reaching for his hand. “I’m your best friend and your bandmate… not your rebound.”  
His face flashed the same surprised, hurt look he’d had when he heard Mikey say he was fucking things up for the band. I squeezed his hand gently.  
“Look, Frank, I love y-”  
 _“Shut up.”_ He snapped.  
“Frank…” I whispered.  
“No. I get it. It’s fine. I’ll uh… I’ll see you at practice.” He said bitterly, looking out the front of the car.  
I slid out of the passenger seat and headed into my apartment building with a sinking feeling in my stomach. It felt wrong to kiss Frank. It felt wrong that he wanted to pretend I wasn’t completely in love with him. It felt wrong to leave him. It felt wrong to not go and see him after dinner with Mikey. It felt wrong that there was a good chance he’d go back to giving the silent treatment at practice tomorrow. It felt wrong to slide out of Frank's sweatshirt and into a clean batman t-shirt.  
It felt wrong to toss Frank's sweatshirt onto my bed with full intentions of curling up and sleeping in it later on.  
  
Everything was all _wrong_ and I had no idea how to make it right again.


	7. Panic Attack

 

Mikey let the tears fall into his french fries, not bothering to stop them on their way down.  
“ _Gerard.._. I just want you to know I’m not upset with you.” He paused to blink a round of tears away.  
“Thanks M, that means a lot, coming from you.” I said softly.  
“I’m just mad at myself for not being there to stop you. I should’ve been there. This is all my fault. And this is _Frank’s_ fault.” He moaned. “If he’d just stop acting like such a… such a fucking-”  
“I want someone to blame just as much as you do.” I said gently, cutting him off. I squeezed his hand. “But this is my own fault. I made a conscious choice to open that beer and drink it...”  
“But Gee, you’re a _wreck!_ Your eye looks so bad… who did you say you got in a fight with again? I’ll kill them. I swear to God I’ll-”  
“I don’t remember… I was too fucked up.” I lied. “But it doesn’t matter now. It’ll never happen again. I promise you.”  
“Maybe someone was there who remembers the parts you don’t. Have you tried calling Bert?”  
“ _No!_ ” I yelped. “No. I just... I want to put this all behind me, M. I don’t need to know what happened to know that it wasn’t good and that I should never do it again.” I sighed, not sure why I was so desperate to avoid telling Mikey the truth.  
“Okay…” He whispered.  
After dinner Mikey asked if he could come over and watch a movie. He was still upset that I had fallen off the wagon and said he just needed to be close to me.  
  
Once back at my apartment, Mikey immediately headed for my DVD collection. I stopped in the kitchen to take some more pills for my headache. By the time I made it to my bedroom Mikey was already opening a DVD case and turning on the TV.  
  
My heart stopped as I realized Frank’s sweatshirt was still on my bed. It was just an obscure black shape and slipping between the pillows and the headboard. I felt a pang of guilt as I wondered if I should just tell Mikey about what had happened between me and Frank. If Mikey had been in my position, he would have told me about it in a heartbeat. But I still wasn’t sure what the hell _had_ happened between us. Maybe it all had meant nothing to Frank?  
I pulled his sweatshirt over my head, my heart fluttered as Frank’s scent overwhelmed my senses. If Mikey asked, I could say he’d left it here before we’d stopped talking.  
I missed him. I wished I had told him I would come over.  
  
Mikey slid the disk into the player and climbed onto the bed with me. He pulled a blanket up around his face and snuggled up next to me.  
“We need to tell the band what happened.” Mikey whispered.  
“We don’t _have_ to.” I pointed out miserably.  
“They can help you stay on track, Gee. You’re less likely to relapse again if you have your friends looking out for you.”  
“I don’t need babysitters, Mikey.”  
“Fine… but let me at least talk to Ray about it. We don’t have to tell Bob or… _Frank_ if you don’t want to.” He mumbled, still saying Frank’s name like it was a bad word.  
“If you think it’s a good idea, then talk to Ray.” I said softly.  
“I love you.” he whispered, reaching for my hand.  
“I love you too, M.” I replied, already feeling heavy. I pulled the corners of my mouth into a lazy smile. “I don’t know what I would do without you...”  
I drifted off to sleep during the opening credits, distracted by the faint headache that remained and reverberating thoughts of Frank.  
  
~~~~~~~~  
  
Mikey woke me up the next morning by setting a mug of coffee on my bedside table.  
“I have to go get my bass before we go to the studio.” he explained. “I made you some coffee.”  
I groaned an acknowledgement sleepily and rolled over. _5 more minutes of sleep._ That’s all I needed.  
  
It was more like _2 hours_ later that I finally got up.  
I reached over and felt the side of my coffee mug. It was completely cold. I rubbed the sleep off of my face and slid out of bed. My entire body held a lingering dull ache. It was enough to remind me I never wanted to drink again. Ever.  
I ran my hands over the soft fabric of Frank’s sweatshirt as I made my way down the hallway to make myself a fresh pot of coffee.  
I stared hard at my reflection in my metal toaster. I had almost forgotten about my black eye - which seemed like it was only going to look worse before it would start to look better. Frank was right though, it did look cool.  
I glanced over at the clock in the kitchen. The rest of the band had probably showed up at the studio 20 minutes ago. Ray may have been 15 minutes late… but if Ray was late he always made sure to bring coffee and donuts.  
At least I was normal-Gerard late. Things seemed to be at least following some kind of routine similar to how they had been before everyone found out about my fics. I got ready to leave as quickly as I could, scooping up my journals and a fresh cup of coffee on my way out the door.  
  
To my disappointment I’d been spot-on about Frank giving me the silent treatment. He didn’t look up when I walked into the room. I shrugged off Bob’s comment about my black eye.  
I glanced over at Ray, who flashed me a look of genuine concern and I wondered if Mikey had already found the time to tell him about my night from hell. I’d been right about one thing - Ray had brought donuts and coffee for everyone.  
Frank busied himself talking to one of the guys who worked at the studio. I couldn’t hear their conversation but bits and pieces of boring technical stuff drifted to my corner of the room.  
  
Everyone caught me staring at Frank at least once throughout the course of the day. If it had been a contest, Bob won. He’d caught me staring 3 or 4 times and every single time he had let me know by making a puking noise. He bent over himself, choking out a _justgotalktohim._  
It was uncomfortable to think everyone knew what I thought about Frank. I hadn’t discussed my feelings with anyone besides Mikey but Bob and Ray at least knew what I’d written about him - they had to. And based on the way Frank was acting, I’m sure they figured that everything I’d written was true.  
Frank was in one of the sound booths replacing his top E string, which had snapped during the last run-through of a track we were almost done recording. I quickly darted my eyes away when Frank looked up in my direction. I glanced over at Mikey, who was sitting next to me with a concerned look on his face.  
“What?” I mumbled.  
“Have you talked to Frank at all since the party?” He asked quietly under his breath.  
“No… why?” I whispered.  
“He just seems less pissed off today.” he shrugged. “Maybe I’m imagining things. Or maybe he’s finally starting to get over himself.”  
I looked over at Frank. His gaze quickly shifted away from Mikey and I.  
“Also _that._ ” Mikey mumbled, nodding his head in Frank’s direction.  
“What?”  
“You two keep looking at each other like that.”  
“Yeah right.” I muttered quietly.  
“No seriously.” He whispered. “Maybe you should just talk to him, Gerard.”  
“It’s not like I haven’t tried.” I shrugged, still feeling a little guilty Mikey didn’t know Frank and I had already sort of talked... And spent the night together because he’d punched me in the face and taken me home. And then we’d kissed. And oh god...  
  
The rest of the day at the studio passed easily, ending when Bob grumbled that someone would have hell to pay if he didn’t have caffeine or booze soon.  
I glanced over at Frank as he put his guitar back in its case. We made uncomfortable eye contact for a moment, which sent an anxious pang through my chest. His eyes dropped from mine, down to his borrowed sweatshirt I was still wearing. He furrowed his brow in this desperate look before looking back up at me. The entire exchange happened in a matter of seconds but it was enough to make me wish I could disappear or build a time machine.  
I quickly mumbled about some place I needed to be and ducked out the door.  
  
I don’t think I could have made it to my car fast enough. By the lights of the small parking lot I could see my breath swirling around in the freezing air. The horrible feeling hit me as I trudged through the gravel. It was this crashing absolutely certainty that something bad was going to happen. Like I’d just received the worst news, tenfold.  
I sat in the cold driver’s seat and lit a cigarette. I don’t know how long I sat there, at least 4 or 5 cigarettes. I listened as I heard everyone else get into their cars and leave.  
I couldn’t get myself to calm down. My breathing hitched, which didn’t pair well with the aching sensation in my chest left over from chain-smoking.  
 ** _ohhgod ohgodohgod_**  
I knew I was freaking out but I didn’t know what to do. Everything was **so fucked up** and it was all unfixable and it was all my fucking fault.  
That crashing sensation was overwhelming.  
I was completely paralyzed by it. My brain buzzed with it. I couldn’t focus on any one particular thought.  
And now, I realized, I was coasting through a panic attack and I didn’t have any fucking beer.  
My vision swam. I couldn’t say if it was tears or lack of oxygen or something I’d completely made up in my head. The ash on my cigarette grew longer and longer as I sat there in the silence cut only by the sound of my own pathetic nervous breathing.  
I was startled by the sound of soft tapping on the window. I turned to see the dark shadow of someone standing outside of my car. I was about to scream when I recognized the flash of tattooed hand. _Frank. Oh thank God._  
I opened the door, trying to get my breathing to even out but it was no use. I was still panting.  
“Hey.” He said softly. I could barely make out his face in the dark. He gently lowered his guitar off his shoulder and propped it against the car. I wanted to say something but I couldn’t speak.  
“Are you okay?” He asked.  
I shook my head, pursing my lips tight.  
“What’s wrong?” he took a step closer to me.  
“I uh… I don’t know I just…” I breathed out, surprised my voice sounded so strangled and messed up.  
“Have you been crying?” He took another step closer and pulled me into a hug.  
“I don’t know I… probably.” I croaked. I felt warm tears rolling down my cheeks.  
He hugged me tighter.  
“Frank I think I… I think I’m having a panic attack.” I whispered.  
“Focus on breathing.” He said, speaking directly against my ear. I nodded.  
I closed my eyes tight and tried to focus on breathing, but ended up much more focused on the way his hand slowly slid up and down my back.  
“I’m so sorry about everything.” I whispered. “I fucked up everything and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to not _want_ you so much. And I’m sorry you and Jamia broke up. I’m sorry if that’s my fault.” I was rambling, I know. He probably couldn’t understand me through the sobs. But I needed to say it, I needed him to hear it. “I’m so fucking sorry Frank. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I’m so fucking sorry. ”  
“Gerard, _shhhhhhhhhh_ stop.” He said sternly. “We should talk about this later. You’re just making yourself more upset. Let’s get you somewhere warm. Can I drive you home?”  
“No, please. I can’t go there.” I whimpered, swallowing hard.  
“Well… do you want to go back to my place?” He asked, a note of caution in his voice.  
“I don’t want to go anywhere, Frank. I want to disappear.”  
“Well you can’t… I need you.” He said simply.  
I held my breath. I held it until my vision was closing in.  
“Keep breathing.” he reminded gently. “Innnn and out.” His lips pressed ever so gently to my cheek and lingered there.  
“I’m so sorry.” I whispered.  
“I know you are.” He mouthed against my skin. “I know.”  
“So sorry.” I repeated.  
We stood there quietly in the cold. The frosty air was broken every now and then by Frank quietly reminding me to breathe whenever I forgot. He buried his arms in my coat when he started to shiver.  
  
“Let’s go... I’ll drive.” he mumbled through chattering teeth.  
“Where are we going?” I whispered, feeling dizzy and spent and exhausted.  
“I don’t know.” He mumbled, pulling away from me gently. “Anywhere... It doesn’t matter to me.”  
“Ok,” I sighed, taking my first controlled, deep breath.  
“Give me your keys.” he said, smiling up at me.  
I slid the keys out of my pocket and handed them over. He grabbed them out of my hand and opened the driver’s side door. He started the engine and popped the trunk.  
“Get in.” He said sternly, placing a chaste kiss to my cheek.  
I did as he said and slid into the passenger seat. He put his guitar in the trunk and got into the driver’s seat. We drove in silence for the first couple of minutes. Now that I had calmed down and the post-panic exhaustion had settled in I was suddenly feeling self-conscious that Frank had found me in such a state. After the way he had acted all day I couldn’t figure out how we’d ended up in my car together, driving off into the night. I swallowed hard as I prepared myself for the difficult conversation to follow.  
“Frank… the other night you said we couldn’t be friends… what changed?” I shut my eyes so I couldn’t see his face.  
“I’m sorry I said that. It was incredibly selfish.” he said softly.  
“But… what changed?”  
“You relapsed. You shouldn’t have to handle that on your own. Nobody deserves that.”  
“You’re still mad at me though, aren’t you?” I said somberly.  
“I don’t want to talk about this.” he said, an edge of irritation to his voice.  
“We’re going to have to talk about it eventually...” I said, feeling a sickening wave of hopelessness wash over me.  
“Just not tonight, ok?” he sighed.  
“Ok.” I mumbled.  
It wasn't OK, not really


	8. Watching You Die

I opened my eyes, confused as to what I was doing in the passenger seat of my car. It was quiet and dark. I didn’t remember falling asleep.  
It took awhile for my foggy mind to put everything back in place. I looked over at the driver’s seat - but Frank wasn’t in the car. I was alone. I pressed my fingers against the vents. They were still warm, so he couldn’t have left more than 10 minutes ago. I felt around for the keys, but I didn’t see them anywhere.  
I looked out the window. I was in the parking lot of a gas station... but I had no idea where. It didn’t look familiar. The road beyond the parking lot was quiet, with no passing cars. Across the road there seemed to be a heavily wooded suburban neighborhood.  
  
I glanced up at the rear-view mirror to peer into the gas station. Frank was walking out with two styrofoam cups in his hands. He set them on top of the car and opened the driver’s side door.  
“Oh good… you’re awake.” he said, passing me one of the cups. The scent of cheap black coffee flooded my senses. I could feel myself perk up before I’d even had a sip.  
“Yeah. Um. How long was I out?” I asked.  
“Maybe an hour or so. I figured I’d let you sleep, you seemed pretty wiped out...” He slid into the driver’s seat and huddled over his cup, breathing in the steam that floated off of the liquid’s surface.  
“Where are we?” I asked, taking a sip of the scalding liquid.  
“I uh…” he chuckled nervously. “I have no idea. I got us kind of lost so I stopped to ask for directions…”  
I couldn’t help but smile as I remembered Frank’s horrible sense of direction.  
“It’s not too far. We’re only about 20 minutes from the highway and then maybe an hour away from home...”  
 _Home.  
_ I wasn’t ready to go home. I wasn’t ready for this to be over. I wasn’t ready to go back to reality. I liked it here in my car, where Frank would drive us around all night and he wasn’t mad at me. Sitting in the front seat in the middle of the night - I could pretend he didn’t even know I loved him. I must have made a face because his expression shifted to sympathy.  
“You can come over if you don’t want to go home.” He said, taking a sip of his coffee. “If I’d known I was going to be driving around all night I wouldn’t have stayed up so late last night.” He yawned.  
I wanted to ask what had kept him up, but I wasn’t sure if I’d like the answer.  
“Ok...” I mumbled. It felt like I was overstepping a boundary.  
Frank started the car and pulled onto the dark, deserted street. The clock on the dashboard indicated it was well past 2am. I sipped my coffee in silence and watched his face in the glow of the dashboard lights.  
  
“I keep having nightmares about you…” Frank said after we’d turned onto the highway.  
“The same dream every time or different dreams?” I asked.  
“Well… it’s like… I keep dreaming about the other night… about what would have happened to you if I hadn’t found you outside of that venue with Bert…” He kept his eyes glued to the road.  
“But you did find me.” I pointed out.  
“But what if I hadn’t, Gerard? What would have happened? Would we even be _having this conversation right now or-?_ ” He whispered the second half of the question, wincing. “You could have died, Gee.”  
“But I didn’t.” I said softly.  
“I just… I can’t stop dreaming about what could’ve happened to you.” He said miserably.  
“I’m so sorry about all this.” I mumbled. I reached over and gently squeezed his shoulder.  
“I’m don’t want you to be sorry, Gerard. I just have to keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t hurt yourself… that’s all. It’s like, if I can’t see you I’m worried something terrible is happening to you. I don’t know how to make it _stop…”_  
As much as I wished I had an answer for him, I didn’t.  
We spent the rest of the drive in silence.  
  
~  
  
Frank flicked on the light in the hallway and set my car keys down on a small table by the door.  
“I’m going to make some coffee.” he yawned, sliding out of his coat.  
“You don’t have to stay up if you’re tired.” I said. “You’ve done enough for me for one night.”  
He bit his lip thoughtfully. “Okay. Um. Do you wanna watch TV or something?” he asked, walking down the hallway towards his living room.  
“Sure.” I said, following after him, feeling awkward.  
He flicked on the TV and dropped onto the couch. I sat down beside him taking extra care to make sure we weren’t touching. He lifted the remote lazily and started flicking through the channels.  
“Want to watch the second half of blade runner?” he asked, voice already dull and thick with exhaustion.  
“Yeah, okay.” I said absently, knowing I wasn’t going to be able to focus on anything happening on the screen anyway.  
  
Frank fell into a restless sleep within minutes. I was right about not being able to focus on the television. His head slumped across the couch cushion. It looked uncomfortable but I was apprehensive to wake him up and lead him back to his room. I didn’t want him to take it the wrong way.  
The residual exhaustion of my earlier panic attack was still gnawing at me. I floated in and out of consciousness, watching the TV screen move but not really processing what was happening. I wasn’t asleep but I also wasn’t fully awake.  
I kept having these half-dreams. Like, little mundane re-runs of the day. Walking towards the vending machines at the recording studio. Lighting a cigarette. I was pulled out of my sleep by little whimpers. I thought it was the dream I was having. I quickly realized it wasn’t the Frank in my dreams but the Frank that was sleeping uneasily beside me on the sofa.  
Soft, frightened murmurs kept escaping his lips. I reached over and, against better judgement, ran my fingers carefully through Frank’s hair.  
“No.” he whimpered in a tiny voice. “No please.”  
“Frank? Frank it’s alright.” I told him softly, gripping his shoulder to try and wake him up.  
His eyes shot open. A look of pure horror formed on his face.  
“Fuck.” He gasped, looking like he was trying very hard to stifle a scream. “Gerard you’re…” he paused. “You’re okay…..”  
“Yeah. I am.” I said softly, brushing a lock of hair out of his face.  
“You’re here and you’re okay…” he whispered, leaning in and pressing his soft lips against mine. I kissed back carefully, not sure if he was completely awake and consenting. He slid his arms around my neck and pulled me onto him, kissing me hard and desperate. His tongue slid against my lower lip.  
“Frank, wait a second.” I whispered, trying to pull away.  
 _“I feel like I’ve watched you die 1000 times.”_ he breathed. “How do I make it stop?”  
An explosion sounded in the movie, making Frank flinch.  
“Hey it’s okay.” I said, pulling him into my arms as best I could. It wasn’t exactly graceful, given our arrangement on the couch. He rested his cheek on my shoulder and let out a deep sigh.  
I held him as his breathing slowly regulated. He seemed to quickly untense and fall apart in my arms. I thought he might have even gone back to sleep. I was about to slide him out of my arms and arrange him in a more comfortable position on the couch when he stirred. He rolled over and rested his head in my lap. Sleepy brown eyes stared up into mine.  
“I’m so fucking scared I’m gonna hurt you…” He murmured. “But I’m just as scared you’re gonna disappear before we can figure this shit out.”  
‘I’m not gonna disappear. I promise.” I said. I traced his collar bone through his t-shirt.  
“I don’t know what the fuck to do, Gerard.” he paused to take a deep, sad sigh. “I’ll never fucking forgive myself if I hurt you. I can’t stop this horrible feeling that I’m going to do something I regret. I mean, I already have…”  
A sinking feeling slid it’s way down my chest. “Do you regret this? Right now? I’m sorry I kissed back I shouldn’t ha-”  
“No!” He interrupted, sliding his hand over the fingers I was tracing over his chest. “...No. That’s not what I meant...”  
I glanced up at the TV when making eye contact felt too intense. I swallowed the nervous feeling in my throat. I had to pick my words carefully. I felt like I was walking through a conversational mine field. Blade Runner had ended and started over. The movie was only about 15 minutes in.  
“I wish you had just told me you liked me…” he said.  
“I wish that too.” I replied, still staring at the screen. “I… I thought I was protecting you.”  
“Protecting me? From what?”  
“The whole drama of it. I thought I’d found a way to deal with how I felt about you without having to get you involved.” My heart lurched. I’d never had to explain this stuff out loud to anyone before.  
“But that’s not fair, Gerard.”  
“What’s unfair about it?” I asked, finally looking down at him.  
“You’ve had all this time to think about what you want from me and I have so much catching up to do… I don’t know what I want so I can’t give you what you want.”  
“Frank, I’m not asking you for anything. I don’t ever want you to feel like you owe me anything.” I said, leaning in closer to gaze into his eyes.  
“It’s not about what I owe you… I can’t ignore the fact that I know exactly what you want from me.”  
“What is it you think I want from you exactly?”  
“ _ **I read it**_ , _Gerard_. It’s all in size 11 helvetica on fucking live journal.”  
I could feel myself die a little inside at those words. The thought of Frank bent over a computer reading my most intimate fantasies made me want to throw up. I wanted to say something but I couldn’t think of anything to say.  
“Fuck. I’m sorry. That was insensitive.” he said, squeezing my hand. “I wasn’t trying to freak you out.”  
“I- ok….” I mumbled. I could feel warmth spreading across my face. I closed my eyes and swallowed back the shock.  
  
“Come on. Let’s go to sleep.” He yawned, sitting up and getting off the couch. He reached for my hand and pulled me along with him. I followed him to his room, still too stunned to speak.  
He vanished into the dark room and turned on the lamp on the bedside table. I sat on the edge of the bed and kicked my shoes off. I bit my lip, trying to ignore how nervous I was. The whole room smelled like Frank and laundry. When I turned to look at him he was already stretched out under the blankets. I couldn’t read his expression. I peeled back the covers and slid under them next to him.  
He reached over to turn the light off.  
“C’mere.” He mumbled in the dark, pulling me close. He buried his face in the crook of my neck. It felt so good to be so wrapped up in Frank. I knew sleep wouldn’t come for me. I couldn’t stop the jittery feeling in the pit of my stomach and I couldn’t turn my brain off.  
“Frank?” I whispered. He was already fast asleep.  
  
But it wasn’t for very long. He started to twitch and whimper just like he had earlier in the evening.  
“Frank wake up.” I called. I shook him gently. “Frankie. Hey!”  
He inhaled sharply like he had been drowning.  
“Holy fucking shit.” He whispered. He buried his face in my chest and let out a soft moan.  
“Bad dream?” I asked.  
“Gerard I can’t do this anymore.” He said softly. “I can’t watch you die anymore.” He sounded like he was going to cry. He tilted his head up and pressed his lips against mine softly.  
  
 _“What if you die never knowing how much I want you?”_ he whispered against the corner of my mouth.  
  
“Is that what scares you?” I asked.  
“It terrifies me.” he breathed.  
“Well… I think I know now.”


	9. Performance Anxiety

Whatever Frank had dreamed was still coursing through his veins. His hands fisted tightly in the back of my t-shirt. Every muscle in his body was twitchy and tense. Heart pounding. Breathing shaky. I held him tightly in my arms, pressing my face into the crook of his neck and breathing him in. I could feel him try to relax into my touch but after several careful, measured breaths he was still trembling. His shaking fingers reached up and slid into my hair.  
“It was just a dream.” I whispered, sliding my lips along his jawline.  
“There was so much blood.” he whimpered. “So much fucking blood.”  
“I’m not going to let anything like that happen to us, Frank. I promise.” I whispered softly, placing careful kisses at his throat. “We’re safe here.”  
“You can’t promise that.” He whispered.  
“I can promise anything I want.” I said.  
“Then promise…” he swallowed hard. “Promise me you’ll stay with me… every night… until the nightmares go away.”  
“I promise.” I whispered, heart fluttering.  
He searched for my lips in the dark. First they pressed ungracefully against the corner of my mouth, against my upper lip. I tilted my head to press my lips against his.  
For once it didn’t feel rushed. It didn’t feel like if we didn’t get it out of the way right this second that we’d never ever get to. Our lips moved against each other’s slowly and purposefully.  
Our kissing gradually slowed. I slid my lips over to place a careful kiss on his cheek and then another one at his throat.  
“I’m so exhausted, but I’m terrified to sleep.” Frank whispered.  
“Just sleep. I’ll wake you up if it seems like you’re having bad dream.” I said against his skin. I pulled the collar of his shirt down, placing a few more soft kisses along his collarbone.  
I rested my head against his chest, listening to his pounding heartbeat. I wondered what made his heart beat faster. Was it me or was it just the nightmare he’d had?  
“If I go back to sleep then what are you gonna do?” he asked quietly.  
“I’ll stay up and watch over you. I have a lot to think about.” I said. I slid my fingers up under the hem of his shirt and very gently ran my fingers over his skin. It took my brain a couple seconds to catch up with what I’d said. I was grateful that Frank didn’t ask what it was I had to think about. It seemed to be enough for him because he quickly fell back to sleep.  
  
Though just like before it was not for very long. Throughout the night Frank would enter a sequence of violence dreams after thirty to forty five minutes of uneasy sleep. Each time I would wake him, hold him tightly, kiss him all over and tell him how much I needed him until he could drift off to sleep again.  
Each time I told him it hurt a little more. It was so terrifying to lay out all my feelings in the name of giving Frank the peace of mind. He never made any mention of feeling the same.  
I knew he wanted me in some way. I knew he cared about me as a friend. But if he needed me like I needed him he didn’t admit it. It was like he couldn’t admit it. Wouldn’t admit it.  
If I’d been confused about what was and wasn't off limits before… I was a thousand times more confused now. We were allowed to kiss and touch. He wanted me to spend the night again.  
But what what was this thing between us?  
  
When I opened my eyes the sky was starting to lighten. I hadn’t intended to doze off. I blinked a few times at what I could see of pink horizon yawning into the grey clouds above. My gaze slid over to Frank, who, I noticed, was completely awake.  
“Good morning.” I whispered.  
“Good morning.” He replied softly. His lips twitched, attempting to smile. He had thick grey rings under his eyes.  
“You look exhausted.” I said.  
“So do you.” He whispered, leaning in to brush his lips against mine softly. I kissed back, sliding my fingers along his jaw.  
We pulled back to stare into each other’s eyes, slowly inching our bodies towards each other. Then he kissed me again much less innocently. I tangled my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to me. I needed him close. Impossibly close. I slid my tongue along his bottom lip, wanting so desperately to taste the inside of his mouth. He wrapped his arms around me, parting his lips to slide his tongue against mine. .  
A tiny noise escaped his throat as I slid on top of him, kissing him hard and pushing him into the mattress. I could feel how turned on he was as he ground up against me, early morning erection jabbing needily against my hip.  
I’d fantasized about this hundreds of times. Written it extensively, even. Nothing compared to the actually sounds Frank made as I pressed down into him, pinning him heatedly against the mattress. The throaty moan that escaped his lips as I grazed my teeth over his neck was pure sex.  
I wanted to tell him I loved him but I couldn’t bring myself to tear my lips away from his skin. He had to know how much I loved him. There was no way he didn’t know. I sucked hard on his salty skin, grinding up against him. I’d still tell him after we’d…  
 _“Frankie.”_ I mumbled against his collarbone. I slid my tongue up his neck, hoping to pull more moans across his lips.  
“Gerard...” He hissed. I could have came just hearing him moan my name like that.  
I arched my back to get better access to the region below his hips. He quickly grabbed at the hand I was trailing down his torso.  
“Gerard, wait. Stop.” he breathed.  
I pulled my lips off of his neck somewhat apprehensively.  
“What’s wrong?” I whispered, pressing a kiss against his jaw.  
“I’m sorry but- _we can’t-_ ...I’m not ready to-.” He stammered.  
“Oh.” I said dumbly, “Oh yeah.” I pulled away from him, feeling stupid and embarrassed for having been so quick to advance on him. Of course he wasn’t ready. What the fuck was I doing?  
I closed my eyes trying to swallow the passionate burning need to fuck Frank’s brains out.  
“Fuck. I’m so sorry, Gerard.” He repeated.  
“Don’t apologize, Frank. You haven’t done anything wrong.” I gritted out. My head was still swimming with lust. “I don’t want you to do anything you aren’t ready to do.”  
Frank placed his trembling hand in mine. “We can still kiss and stuff I just…” he paused, swallowing hard.  
I opened my eyes, looking up at the ceiling. I forgot that Frank was just as nervous and unsure about all of this as I was.  
“I just have… um, _performance anxiety_.” He said, barely loud enough to hear.  
 _“What?”_ I asked, looking over at his blushing face. He squeezed my hand.  
“Performance anxiety.” He repeated, darting his gaze away from me. “It’s like… it’s just what you wrote about me.” His voice was so tiny I thought I’d misheard him.  
“What?” I breathed. I reached out to tilt his face towards mine. His eyes met mine for a brief moment before darting away again. My heart started beating faster at the mention of my fucking writing.  
“In your stories… _ficitons_ , whatever you call them. You were so… generous in your descriptions of our lovemaking. You wrote me as the best you’ve ever had _in your life_ … and I’m just worried I guess that… well, what if I’m not all that you think I’m gonna be? I’m not so good at dirty talking. Or like, maybe I am? I haven’t really done it so much. And I certainly can’t unbutton your pants with one hand and... The expectations are just so high I-”  
 _“Frank.”_ I whispered, cringing at every word that tumbled out of his pretty mouth.  
“I’m sorry… I’m just not ready.” he said, letting out a pained sigh and staring sadly up at the ceiling.  
I pulled him into my arms, trying to keep all pressure away from my hard-on. His arm slid around the back of my neck weakly.  
“Oh Frankie,” I sighed into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. We can wait as long as you want but… I don’t want you to worry about what I wrote. Because you didn’t read my diary, you read my fiction. There’s a culture to it, y’know? A lot of what I wrote was just what I thought people wanted to read. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re a fucking porn star or not. I don’t care as long as it’s with you.”  
I could feel him swallow hard. “Gee… uh. I mean, the thought’s there and all but… that kind of just makes it worse.” he said dryly.  
I thought over how what I’d just said could have been misconstrued.  
“No, Frank… _fuck_. Look at me _please_.” I said, pulling back so that I could look him in the eyes. “Just kissing you like that just now… I can’t fucking think straight or talk straight. If kissing you like that has me seeing stars I can’t imagine how brain-scrambled I’d be if we’d gone any further.”  
He pursed his lips, trying to hide his embarrassed smile. It was so cute I thought my heart would fucking stop.  
“We can wait as long as you want.” I repeated. “I’ll wait forever if you want.”  
He nodded gently and leaned in to press a soft kiss to my cheek.  
We stayed in bed until the sun was well above the horizon. Fingers slipping under hemlines, lips trailing over skin, apologies whispered. We drifted in and out of sleep. By noon I had an arm tucked lazily around Frank's waist. I fought to keep my eyes open. He looked just as exhausted - hair messy from unsatisfying sleep, lips swollen from kissing and sucking on skin, deep rings under his eyes. Even in his disheveled state he was beautiful as he finally slept peacefully.


	10. Staying Out Of Trouble

When the sun was finally all the way up, slanting in through the bedroom window, Frank got up to make coffee. He’d told me to stay exactly where I was. I laid back on the pillows, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Frank moving around his apartment.

I heard Frank’s phone ring. He picked it up after two rings.

“Oh hey Brian.” He said, his fake-polite voice echoing down the hallway.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why? What’s up?”

There was a pause.

“Oh uh… yeah I got a ride home last night so I left my car at the studio…. yeah.”

He paused again to listen to Brian.

“Oh tonight? Yeah. I’m not busy.” he said. “Text me the address.”

Another pause.

“No. I’ll behave myself. I promise.” he said.

There was one last short pause.

‘Kay. Cool, man. See you then.”

 

A few silent moments later and Frank was poking his head in the door.

“Wanna watch cartoons?” he asked.

“Totally.” I said, sliding out of the bed and following him down the hall.

“Turn on the TV... I’ll grab our coffee.” he said, disappearing into the kitchen.

He was back with two mugs of coffee as soon as I’d changed the channel to Cartoon Network.

“So uh… Brian’s probably gonna call you. I guess he wants the band to go this record release thing tonight.” Frank said, handing me one of the mugs. He sat beside me on the couch, scooting close to me.  

“Oh… cool. I guess it’s been awhile since we were all out together.” I said, taking a sip of my coffee.

“Yeah… That was kind of Brian’s thinking too.” he said, sipping his coffee.  

“It’ll be fun.” I assured him. “Who’s release part is it?”

“Fuck I forgot to ask. Ask Brian when he calls you.” He rested his head against my shoulder and let out a deep sigh.

I nodded, directing my attention to the TV.

 

I’d drained my coffee and was peacefully zoning out to a rerun of The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy. I was less focused on the episode as I was on how comfortable and happy this morning had felt. Locked up and alone together in the safety of Frank’s apartment I could almost forget about everything that happened outside of these walls.

Frank’s lips pressed softly to my cheek.

“What are you thinking about?” he whispered.

“You.” I mumbled.

“What about me?” he asked softly.

“I’m just so comfortable and happy this morning. It’s unexpected... that’s all. I haven’t felt this calm in a while.”  

He tilted my face towards his and gently placed his lips against mine.

“Sorry if I have coffee breath…” he whispered, before leaning in and kissing me again.

This was the first time he’d kissed me purely because he wanted to. Not because he was afraid of what would happen if he didn’t, not because he was so fucking glad I was okay, not in the dark safety of the middle of the night, not because we were intoxicated or on stage. It was entirely because he wanted to.

I closed my eyes and leaned into him gently.

If anyone asked me, I’d say _this_ was our first kiss.

I wrapped my arms tightly around him. He pulled his lips away to bury his face in the crook of my neck.

“I should get going. I have to get ready for tonight.” I whispered into his hair, hugging him tightly. “Do you want me to drive you to your car?”

He nodded slowly, sighing into my shirt.

“I love you so much.” I blurted out.

“Gerard.” He mumbled, curling up in my arms.

I listened to his slow breaths as we held each other tightly through another episode of Billy and Mandy.

 

After dropping Frank off in the record label parking lot I made my way home to find something to wear. There was a voicemail from Brian about the release party later. I texted him to confirm I’d be there and texted Mikey to ask what time he planned on showing up.

I took my time in the shower, letting my mind drift off to what would’ve happened if Frank hadn’t stopped us that morning. I jacked off thoroughly, gasping Frank’s name as I came. If Frank wanted to be so physical without actually getting intimate I’d have to get out as much sexual frustration as I could when I was away from him. I let the warm water run over me until it started to run cold.

I opted to wear all black, since I’d forgotten to ask what band the release party was for. All black was safe. I slid into a black jacket and headed out.

 

Mikey was waiting for me outside the venue. We stepped into the warmth of the bar. The place was packed. Mikey walked over to the bar to fetch us some drinks. Two diet cokes to be exact. He passed me my drink and told me he was looking to talk to some particular dudes who worked for a label he was interested in working with.

It took me a minute to realize who the party was for. I glanced at one of the posters on the wall and my heart stopped. I was at a record release party for The Used which, to my horror, meant a certain someone would be around somewhere.

_Bert…_

First I feared for myself. He could tell anyone about my coke binge. It wasn’t like people hadn’t seen me with him the other night, but word hadn’t seemed to travel. Or if it did, Brian made no mention of it. Now that I was here he’d probably stand right next to me and brag to anyone who would listen that he was the one who’d gotten me back on drugs.

Second I was worried about Frank. He fucking hated Bert. I couldn’t imagine what it must have gone through his fiery, agro little mind when he realized who the party was for. I didn’t see him around anywhere so maybe he had left within the first 5 minutes of showing up. Or maybe he just hadn’t showed up yet? I sent him a quick text joking that we should’ve asked Brian for more info because this evening was bound to be a nightmare.

I made my way through the crowd, waving to the industry people I recognized from other parties. I spotted Brian across the room and made my way over to him.

“Gerard! Glad you made it out tonight!” Brian said cheerily.

“No problem, dude. The Used is a great band, I’m happy to support them. Releasing an album is an exciting milestone.” I said. I knew it sounded bland and lame, but I just couldn’t make myself sound excited about tonight. Brian didn’t seem to notice.

“You guys will be there someday soon.” Brain said, smiling. The smile didn’t touch his eyes. He looked tired.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” I agreed. “Anyways, I’m gonna go make my rounds and say hi to some people.”

“Sounds good. Just stay out of trouble.” Brian said wearily, giving me a look.

“Of course.” I nodded, disappearing into the crowd.

 

“I was hoping you’d show up.” A familiar voice said after I’d gotten a safe distance from Brian. I nearly had a heart attack. I turned on my heels to face Bert.

“Bert, we need to talk.” I hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from a group of people standing around and chatting.  

“I’ll say.” He said, smirking as I dragged him away from the crowd. “I had fun the other night, Gee. I missed our little hangouts.”

“That can’t happen again.” I sighed. “It was a mistake.”

Bert seemed unphased by my blatant rejection.

“Well hmmm…” He said, frowning playfully. “No drugs. Maybe we could do something more… formal?”

“Are you asking me out?” I replied incredulously.

“Why don’t you seem excited?” He asked, leaning in. His breath smelled heavily of tequila.

“I’m flattered, Bert, but um… wouldn’t you rather spend time with someone who still… y’know, _parties?_ ”

“You still party, baby. I seen it.” He said, an evil grin spreading across his lips.

“I don’t or… I really shouldn’t.” I told him.

“I think you should reconsider. You’re so cute when you’re all coked up.” He pouted.

“What’s going on here?” Frank asked, suddenly appearing at my side.

“Frannnnnnkie.” Bert said fondly, staring him up and down. “Just the little midget I wanted to see.”

“Leave Gerard alone, Bert. He doesn’t want anything to do with you.” Frank gritted out in reply.

“What do you care?” Bert snapped. “Word on the street is…” he started, taking another step towards Frank. “Gerard proposed and you said ‘no’ on account of the fact that he’s not _actually_ a vampire.”

Frank stared back at him in horror.

My heart fucking stopped. Bert knew. If Bert knew, who else knew?

“I didn’t-” I squeaked.

“Oh so that was just… _fiction_ then?” Bert teased.

“Fuck you!” Frank growled, throwing himself at Bert.

“Frank, don’t!” I yelped, pulling at the back of his jacket. All I’d wanted to do was break up the fight but all I’d managed to do was give Bert a clean shot at Frank’s face. Bert punched him good and hard, letting his drink shatter against the floor.

“Fuck… _you._ ” Bert grumbled, wiping the blood from his split lip against the back of his hand.

“Shit.” I breathed. Frank looked completely dazed, he covered his face with his arm.

I looked around. The place was busy and loud enough that not very many people had noticed the commotion. A few people were starting to stare.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I said, pulling Frank by the arm towards an emergency exit I at the back of the venue I remembered from when we’d played here before. He didn’t say anything. He just let me pull him along silently.


	11. A Direct Violation

“I can’t believe I just fucking did that.” Frank mumbled, rubbing at his face.  
“I can’t either.” I snapped, pulling him down the alley. “We were supposed to be _playing it cool_ , Frank.”  
“I know…. Fuck. I _know_ that. But he was being such an asshole! I can’t believe you let him talk to you like that.” Frank snapped back.  
“Fuck. Let me look at your face. Where did he hit you? Are you okay?” I said, tilting his face against the orange glow of the parking lot lighting.  
“I’m fucking fine.” He groaned, closing his eyes. Bert had gotten him square in the Jaw and it was definitely going to bruise. He let out a dramatic sigh, I could smell alcohol on his breath.  
“Have you been drinking?” I asked softly, poking at the blooming red mark on his face.  
“You think I could stand to be around that asshole sober?” He slurred angrily. “I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t be drunk around you. I should just go the fuck home.”  
He pulled away from me and turned to walk away. I lunged forward and grabbed his wrist before he could get more than a few steps.  
“I-I made you a promise, remember?” I said. “Your nightmares…”  
“But Gerard, you shouldn’t be around me when I’m like this.” He sighed. “It’s not healthy. You’re so fragile...”  
“I’ll be fine. Come on, my car’s this way.” I linked my arm through his and guided him along the sidewalk towards my car. He wasn’t stumbling but he couldn’t walk in a straight line either.  
“We should’ve fucking found out who the release party was for…” I chuckled.  
“No shit.” He mumbled.  
“I mean, what are the fucking odds?” I mused.  
“Easy for you to be all fluttery about it, asshole… Bert didn’t punch you in the fucking face. Oh and thanks for giving him a fucking clean shot.”  
“I’m sorry I didn’t think…” I said, “You actually showed up right as he was asking me out. I was kind of in a daze…”  
“Like on a date?” Frank asked.  
“Yeah…” I breathed.  
“You weren’t gonna say ‘yes’ were you?” He asked, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to turn and look at me.  
“I don’t know. What’s it to _you?_ ” I shrugged. I hadn’t intended to say yes. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.  
“ _Gerard…_ ” he whispered, staring at me with this hurt, confused expression.  
“ _What?_ It’s not like we’re exclusive or something. You’re not my boyfriend. Why do you care?” I pressed.  
“Oh my god, _fuck you._ ” He snapped, scrubbing his hands over his face.  
I stood there completely frozen, hoping he’d blow up on me and say something, _anything_ , that proved he cared. He reached for my hand and held it between his.  
“We _transcend_ the boyfriend shit, don’t you get that?!” he yelled. “You’re my best fucking friend, you idiot! We don’t need to label this shit that’s going on between us.”  
“So you think there’s something going on between us then?” I asked, trying hard not to smile.  
“Oh my god, you fucking _moron_...” He breathed, letting go of my hand and turning to continue down the street.  
I just stood there, unable to hide my grin any longer.  
He spun around a couple paces later when he realized I wasn’t following him.  
“The fuck are you smiling about?” He called out.  
“Frank, I think…. I think you’re my boyfriend. I think you’re just in denial about it.” I said, heart pounding.  
He took the few steps back towards me and framed my face with his hands.  
“I can’t be your boyfriend. What don’t you get about that?” He said sternly before leaning in to press his lips against mine.  
I wrapped my arms around his waist to pull him up against me. His lips parted, cool boozy breath flood my mouth. His fingers tangled into my hair as he hungrily swirled his tongue around my mouth. I don’t know how long we stood there, making out in the middle of the sidewalk.  
“We should go back to my place. Wouldn’t want anyone to find us like this...” Frank panted, pulling his lips away after some time. His forehead rested against mine and his arms were still hung around my neck.  
“I suppose we’ve made enough of a scene for one night.” I agreed.  
“More like enough for the next fucking century.” He chuckled.  
~  
  
Once we were back at Frank’s apartment I busied myself making him some toast to help sober him up. He slid up onto the counter and watched as I paced around the kitchen. He grabbed my arm after I’d popped bread into the toaster.  
“C’mere.” He mumbled, pulling me in between his legs. He shifted his weight against me, settling his hips against mine.  
“I’m gonna burn your toast.” I teased.  
“Fuck that.” He whispered, kissing me hard. He wrapped his hand around the back of my head to pull me closer. Faint traces of alcohol and cigarettes masked his usually intoxicatingly sweet breath.  
A surprised noise formed at the back of my throat as he shoved his tongue in my mouth. His hands started at the buttons on my jacket. He slid it off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor.  
I trailed my lips along his jaw.  
“Fuck.” He hissed, rubbing at the bruise forming on his jaw.  
“Sorry. I forgot-”  
He interrupted my apologize by pressing his lips hard against mine. It shouldn’t have turned me on as much as it did but I could already feel myself getting hard.  
He pulled on the zipper on his hoodie. He pulled it off ungracefully, refusing to tear his lips away from mine. He ground his hips against mine.  
“Frank wait. What about this morning? I thought you didn’t want to-”  
  
“Fuck what I said, Gerard…” he interrupted, resting his forehead against mine. “I had to jack off like twice after you left just so I could stop thinking about you.” He growled in between placing hungry, sloppy kisses along my neck.  
“Me too, Frankie.” I sighed.  
“Oh god, really?” he groaned. “Did you think about me when you…” he trailed off.  
I nodded, biting my lip. I could feel heat rushing to my face.  
“Fuck.” He breathed.  
“We should wait.’ I said, against what every cell in my body desired. “‘Cause you’re drunk… and I need you to be sure about this.”  
“Gerard, I don’t _want_ to wait. I want you now.” He protested.  
“I want it too. But we shouldn’t… Not tonight.”  
His lips quickly dropped into a pouty frown.  
“If you still feel the same in the morning...” I whispered against his ear.  
He rolled his eyes.  
“Come on… let’s get you into bed.” I chuckled, pulling him off the counter, forgetting about the toast altogether.  
Frank followed me silently down the hall towards his bedroom. I expected him to put up more of a fight as I slid into bed with him. Thankfully he fell asleep with all of his clothes still on within minutes. He rolled over in his sleep, facing away from me. I slung an arm around Frank’s waist and buried my face in his hair. I was surprised by the exhaustion that flooded over me so quickly. I pulled my shirt over my head, feeling too heavy to even bother removing the rest of me clothes. I’d wanted to stay up and make sure Frank didn’t have any bad dreams but quickly found my eyelids weighing down with thick sleep.  
~  
  
My eyes slid open to blinding midmorning sun. I blinked away the blurry sleep in my eyes and turned my head towards Frank. He was still sleeping peacefully, curled up in a tight little ball. I glanced over at the clock, it was just before noon.  
I pulled him into my arms. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.  
“Fuck… _my head_.” he breathed.  
“Hungover?” I whispered.  
“I don’t know if it was the alcohol or the fucking punch in the face… but I feel like someone punched me in the face.” He rolled over to face me. Thick grey rings circled his bloodshot eyes. A darkening purple bruise had formed on his jaw, spilling onto his cheek.  
“Do you need anything?” I asked softly, brushing his hair out of his face.  
“Just you.” He deadpanned, eyes heavy with intent.  
Before I could ask him what he meant he kissed me, leaning into me with his whole body. He pulled my face towards his, lips parting, tongue slipping into my mouth. I could feel his hard on grinding against my thigh. His hand started at the button on my jeans.  
“Frank, wai-” I breathed, trying to pull away.  
“Don’t fucking start.” He panted.  
“But-” I squeaked. He clamped a hand over my mouth.  
“ _Do not._ ” He growled, mouthing at my neck. I poked my tongue out, slipping it against his fingers to let him know I wouldn’t argue anymore. I slid my hand down and cupped him through his jeans. He moaned, low and deep and lusty.  
He reciprocated, sliding his hand along the straining hard-on in my jeans.  
“Fuck, Gee.” he whispered. I shut my eyes and lost myself in the way he touched me. Squeezing and palming and rubbing.  
He slid his hand off of my mouth and went for the buttons on my pants. There was a lot of ungraceful, awkward fumbling as we tried to get each other out of our pants. He pulled my jeans down over my hips and started massaging my cock through my boxers. All manor of embarrassing sounds escaped my lips.  
“If you don’t touch me soon I’ll...” He trailed off in a gasp, quickly shoving his jeans just far down enough to pull his boner out. He slid a hand under the hem of my boxers and stroked my length. I wasted no time returning the favor, tugging his boxers down and wrapping my hand around his cock.  
We were wrapped up in each other as we jacked each other off, legs and jeans tangled up, arms awkwardly angling around each others. He buried his face in the crook of my neck to stifle his moans. I bit my lip, eyes squeezed tight, as I bucked my hips into his fist.  
“Mmmmm _Gerard._ ” he gasped.  
“I know, Frankie.” I moaned.  
“So fucking _hot._ ” He panted, sucking hard on my neck, nipping at my collarbone. It was almost embarrassing how quickly I came. He licked at the corner of my mouth as cum spilled all over his hand. Frank was only another 20 seconds of pumping behind me. He gritted out my name over and over as he rode out his own climax, bucking violently and unrhythmically into my hand.  
We laid there, knotted up and panting, covered in cum and sweat and party clothes.  
“Fuck…” he gasped, wiping his hand off on the sheets.  
We kissed and caressed until Frank decided we were too gross to stay like that. He pulled his shirt off and used it to wipe away as much cum as he could before tossing it across the room and onto the floor. He slid his jeans the rest of the way down, kicking them onto the end of the bed. He curled up in my arms, burying his face in my chest. I trailed my fingers along his arm, making small circles.  
“My head doesn’t even hurt anymore. See? I told you orgasms fix hangovers.” He sighed, a lazy smile playing on his lips.  
“Frank, can I ask you something?” I asked softly.  
He hummed in approval.  
“Last night… you said you couldn’t be my boyfriend. What did you mean?”  
“It’s in our contract.” He mumbled. I could feel him tense up.  
“I don’t remember signing any contract saying I couldn’t date you.” I chuckled.  
“Well you did… it’s in our contract with the record label. Didn’t Brian tell you?”  
 _“What?”_ I gasped.  
“Brian didn’t tell you that? Fuck, I’m sorry I thought you knew. That was like the first thing he told me. I guess it slipped my mind after that night I found you with Bert.”  
“No… I-I-” A sinking feeling gathered in my chest. “I had no idea.”  
“Yeah. It’s a legal liability thing or something. No romantic involvement with other band members. It’s direct violation of our contract. We could lose our deal with the label.”  
“Then _why-?_ ” I breathed, pulling away from him and sitting up. “ **Fuck.** Why didn’t you say something? You’ve just been jeopardizing your career for me?”  
“Not _exactly…_ ” Frank sighed. “You really wanna talk about this right now?” He pulled the sheets up around his neck.  
“ _Yes._ I do.” I felt like I was going to cry.  
“Okay. I’ll be honest then… I thought if you spent some time with me you’d realize you loved the idea of me and not 'me', the actual person. You obviously have this disconnect in your head between who I am and who you want me to be… if you’re writing is anything to go by, anyways. I just wanted you to get it out of your system.”  
“So that’s all this has been?” I said, choking on the feeling of despair curling in my stomach.  
“No, Gerard. Fuck you for even _thinking_ that. I fucking care about you, okay? ...But I’m not giving up everything we’ve worked for just because we want to fuck around.” He snapped.  
I slid off the bed, grabbing my shoes and my shirt on my way out of the room.  
“Fuck. Gerard don’t _leave!_ ” Frank called.  
I pulled my shirt on as I wandered through the kitchen. I grabbed my coat off of the floor where Frank had tossed it the night before.  
With a heavy heart and tears in my eyes I stormed out of Frank’s apartment without so much as a backward glance.


	12. Built On Pity

I sat in my car outside of my apartment building, hand still tightly clutching the park brake. My cheeks felt clammy and raw from the tears. I reached up to wipe the salty streaks off on the back of my hand. I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to picture that my emotions could just exit my body with every exhale of breath.  
In.  
Out. Less sad.  
In.  
Out. Less sad.  
In.  
Out. Less sad.  
  
I looked at myself in the rear-view mirror to confirm that I looked as miserable as I felt. I did.  
I dug my phone out of my pocket. I had several missed calls and texts from Mikey, Ray and Brian all wondering where the hell I was.  
I’d completely forgotten to tell Mikey that I’d had to pull Frank away from the party last night. There was so much I hadn’t fucking told Mikey and now it was all crashing down around me. I tried not to think about the fact that Frank hadn’t even _tried_ to call after I’d left. I had no intention of speaking to him (about anything, ever again), but it still sucked that he didn’t care enough to call.  
  
I slid out of the driver’s seat and slowly walked up the stairs and into my apartment. Once inside, I stared around at my silent belongings, all collecting dust. Everything that had happened lately had kept me away from home and it was starting to show.  
I was desperate for background noise. Anything to mute the painful thoughts buzzing through my head. I dropped on the couch and pressed buttons on the TV remote until the screen turned on. I flipped to a random channel and called Mikey.  
“What the fuck Gerard?” Mikey said into the phone, picking up after only two rings.  
“Hey Mikes. Sorry I forgot to tell you when I left last night...”  
“Like _fuck_ you’re sorry!” He spat. “Do you know how worried I’ve been? No… you know what? It doesn’t matter. Just _please_ tell me you didn’t relapse again.”  
“I didn’t.”  
He left out a deep sigh of relief. “Thank god… Please just never disappear on me like that again. If something happened to you...” he trailed off.  
“I’m really sorry, M. It won’t happen again. I promise.” I told him.  
“Okay. I didn’t mean to blow up on you like that I just… I love you and don’t want you to go through all that again.”  
“I know.” I said. "I love you too."  
“Did you see what happened with Frank and _Bert McCracken_ last night? Schechter’s _pissed_!”  
“Uh yeah. I did. Actually… I’m the one who pulled Frank away from the fight.” I gulped. It hurt to even say his fucking _name._  
“What?! Oh my god. Can I come over? You have to tell me _everything_.” He gushed.  
“Actually uh… I kind of just need to be alone right now but we should meet for coffee tomorrow before we hit the studio.” I suggested. I could hear the glum in my own voice. It was hoarse and monotone.  
“Uh ok?” he said. “Yeah. Meet me at the place down the street from the studio at 10? I want to try their dark roast.”  
“10 it is… Love you.” I sighed, dropping the call and resting my phone on my stomach. I let out another deep sigh and stared at the ceiling, listening to the voices coming through the TV.  
  
A few minutes later and my phone was buzzing. I pressed the talk button and brought the phone up to my ear.  
“Hey M.” I said, trying to sound more cheery than I had before.  
“Gerard?” a broken voice croaked.  
I pulled the phone away from my ear to look at the screen. Fuck. I’d answered a call from Frank. I felt a nervous twang in my chest.  
“Oh… _hi_...” I said cooly.  
“You picked up…” He let out a shaky breath. “Gerard, please, just let me- I need to-”  
“Frank,” I interrupted. “Is this band-related?”  
“Of course it’s not fucking band-related.” He replied incredulously, voice breaking. “What the fuck kind of question is that?”  
I took a deep breath and hung up.  
“Didn’t think so.” I said to the empty room.  
  
 _At least he called..._ I thought.  
  
I regretted walking out on him like that but I knew that if I hadn’t he would have just said a bunch of mean shit he couldn’t take back. I replayed our earlier conversation in my head over and over. It wasn’t like there was anything he could say now that would change our predicament. There _definitely_ wasn’t anything he could say that would change how he felt. He said he _cared_ , which meant he didn’t love me. If he loved me he would have _said_ he loved me.  
A relationship built on pity or whateverthefuck it was he felt wasn’t a relationship at all.  
  
What stung the most was that Frank was fucking _right_ about everything. The Frank in my fics would love me or leave me. He’d never fucking pull selfish, manipulative bullshit like this. He wouldn’t reduce my feelings to a single body of fucking writing and act like he knew everything there was to know about how I felt.  
 _“...Just because we want to fuck around.”_ He had said. That was all it was to him.  
  
I wished we could go back to how things were when he wouldn’t even talk to me. That was easier to navigate. Easier to move on from. Now that I knew what he tasted like, what it was like to hear him moan my name. Oh god. What it was like to wake up in his arms. _What it was like to think he wanted me too...  
_ I didn’t know what to do or how to feel.  
  
I spent the afternoon on the couch, drifting in and out of consciousness, feeling sorry for myself. I could hear my phone’s faint vibrations, little buzzing noises as it sat the coffee table, but I wouldn’t be bothered to check it.  
After several hours alone with my thoughts the shock had finally worn off. In its place there was nothing but pain. Despair. This deep, gnawing, nauseous, hollow feeling.  
This was about the time I’d usually reach for a beer but even _that_ felt wrong. I was completely paralyzed by the utter hopelessness.  
  
On the drive home from Frank’s apartment I’d contemplated a million stupid reckless things I could do just to spite him. Everything from crashing my car to calling Bert for another all-night coke binge. If I self-destructed he’d blame himself. If I overdosed he’d _never_ forgive himself. But I wasn’t going to let him reduce me into the shell of a suicidal monstrosity that I was before I got sober.  
I’d have more control of our situation if I kept him fucking scared of what I might do to myself.  
  
If Frank didn’t want me at my best, he didn’t fucking deserve me at my worst.  
~  
  
I tried to keep the details of the release party vague. I told Mikey I’d pulled Frank off of Bert before he could get any critical punches in and then dragged him out the emergency exit doors. After that I’d given him a ride home. We’d said very little to one another. Frank had thanked me for the ride home.  
I’d left out the conversation we’d had on the way to my car. I’d left out the part where I’d stayed the night, exchanged hand jobs and left after he’d basically broken my fucking heart. I wasn’t worried about what Mikey would think, I just wasn’t ready to talk about it. I couldn’t believe any of it had even happened.  
“So you guys are friends now… or not like _friends_ but you’re talking again?” he’d asked.  
I’d smiled, nodded and changed the subject.  
  
Recording had gone fine for most of the day. I didn’t need to look up to know when Frank had come in to the studio. I could hear him get his guitar out and exchange a few words with Ray about which pedal sounded better for the track we were working on.  
I was busy recording vocals for most of the afternoon and really only spoke to the sound tech working the board. Ray would occasionally add in his opinions about some of the layering we were doing to the backing vocals.  
  
The room was too fucking quiet when I returned from the bathroom. I glanced around the room but everyone appeared to have left. Almost everyone except-  
“Gerard, can we talk?” Frank asked.  
“Where did everyone go?” I asked, ignoring his question, keeping my gaze focused on an insignificant point on the floor.  
“I told them I needed to talk to you… they’re taking a fifteen minute break.”  
“Oh...” I mumbled. _Thanks for making our problems everyone else’s problems,_ I thought.  
“Gerard are you… are we okay?” He asked.  
“Yeah. We’re good.” I said coldly, nodding my head.  
“Then how come you won’t even look at me?” he asked softly.  
“I don’t need to.” I shrugged. “I already know what your face looks like...”  
He reached up and touched my jaw, tilting my face in his direction. I shifted my gaze towards him but still avoided his eyes. I’d be totally screwed if I made eye contact with him and I knew it. I ended up focused on his lips. **Huge mistake.** My breath caught in my throat just thinking about his stupid, pretty, manipulative lips. They were curled into a morbid, uneasy frown.  
“Happy?” I whispered, leaning into his touch.  
“I’m so fucking far from happy.” He murmured, brushing his thumb against my cheek.  
“I don’t know what the fuck you want from me.” I said bitterly, swallowing hard. I seized his wrist and pulled his hand away from my face.  
 _“I know._ I don’t either. But the way you left yesterday... That wasn’t okay. We can’t just leave things like this.”  
“Yes we can.” I muttered, still clutching his wrist. I finally glanced up into his eyes. He looked exhausted and sad.  
“No. We _can’t._ _It's not right._ ” He argued as tears welled up in his eyes. He took another step toward me, closing the space between us. I hadn’t been expecting him to kiss me in the middle of the fucking recording studio where anyone could walk in and see. Maybe that was why I’d let it happen. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t kiss him back. I did. But once my brain caught up with my heart I pushed him away.  
“ _Frank, I swear to god,_ if you ever want me to get over you, you’ve got to stop pulling shit like this.” I hissed. My cheeks were smeared with his warm, wet tears. I wiped them off on my sleeve.  
“What if that’s not what I want?” He croaked, biting his lip.  
“You know what? You need to _make up your fucking mind._ ” I said, soft and venomous. “And until you do, _leave me the fuck alone_.”  
I stumbled back towards the door and slipped out as quickly as I could.  
I passed Ray and Bob on my way down the hallway to my car.  
“Where you going, Gee?” Ray asked cheerily.  
“Decided to call it a day.” I shrugged, “See you guys tomorrow.”  
Ray shot me a confused, worried glance but I didn’t stop to explain myself. I needed to get out of there fast.  
  
Once safely in the driver’s seat of my car I pulled my phone out of my pocket.  
I needed someone to talk to. Someone who would want to talk about anything and everything except Frank fucking Iero. I scrolled through my contact’s list, until Bert’s name came up.  
Against better judgement I’d called him and he’d picked up before I could change my mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't explain why your nice/encouraging comments make posting a new chapter so much more intimidating. i guess i'm afraid you won't like the new chapter as much as you liked the last. in any case, thank you for commenting. it's as much appreciated as it is terrifying. -m


	13. Crashing The Penthouse Party

Tonight I had one mission:  
Get Bert McCracken as drunk as was possible without requiring medical assistance.  
I didn’t want the guy to have to go and get his stomach pumped or anything. I just needed him to black the fuck out.  
I wanted him to remember that we’d hung out but I didn’t want to remember what we’d done or for how long we’d done it.  
For a long time we sat at the back of a random bar we’d found in the city. It was dark and crawling with heavily modded, tattooed punks in dark clothes. It had a pretty decent jukebox. I’d offered to buy the first few rounds of drinks. He didn’t even notice that I was drinking straight soda. By the time he would’ve noticed that he was much drunker than me, he was too drunk to notice much of anything. He’d offered me coke but I’d told him I wanted to wait til later.  
I had him call around and find us a party to crash. After another couple rounds of drinks and shots of tequila we caught a cab uptown to a party someone in some band was throwing in the penthouse suite of some hotel. I was a really sketchy on the details, it didn’t matter.  
“It’s so nice to have you back, Gee.” He slurred.  
“I know. I’ve really missed you.” I told him, resting my head on his shoulder.  
I wasn’t lying, either. I’d missed Bert’s stories. He spent the first half of the cab ride talking about all the stupid shit he’d done on his last tour. The rest of the ride was spent discussing whether he should paint his playstation controllers with glitter nail polish or an opalescent shimmer polish. We held hands the whole way, just like old times.  
I’d missed the way he was always checking in on me to make sure I was still having fun. I felt kind of bad that I was completely sober.  
“You good?” He’d mumbled close to my ear when as we rode the elevator up to the penthouse.  
“Yeah. ‘Course.” I said softly. “How ‘bout you?”  
“Fuckin’ perfect.” He replied. I could tell he meant it too. He had the biggest grin plastered across his face. I was almost jealous of how happy he was.  
We stepped into the crowded hotel suite. Bert steered me through the crowd with a hand on my lower back. We helped ourselves to glasses of champagne and started to make our rounds. Bert introduced me to 20 or 30 pretty, drunk, punk-rock partygoers who I probably wouldn’t remember. I pretended to sip my champagne or casually tipped sips out onto the floor when I thought no one was looking.  
At some point I realised that I hadn’t been thinking about Frank at all. I was lost in a crowd of people at the top of some random hotel. He’d never find me here. This wasn’t the kind of place you’d typically find either of us.  
It didn’t feel like I was running away from my problems. It felt like coming up for air. With everything that was happening with Frank I’d felt like I was drowning in my emotions. It was nice to be away from it, even if it was just for the night. It was even sort of nice to be away from Mikey who was still stuck on 24/7 protect-Gerard’s-sobriety-at-all-costs mode.  
But now Frank was back on my mind. I pulled out my phone and saw that I had a few missed calls and texts from him. I deleted the texts without reading them.  
I couldn’t help but think about the fact that he was out there somewhere. Maybe at home, maybe not. I wondered what he was thinking about right in that moment and if he was doing okay.  
“You alright, Gee?” Bert mumbled.  
I nodded.  
He grabbed my arm and pulled me through the crowd. I followed him out of a glass door that opened onto a balcony. I was surprised no one else was out on the balcony. The cool whipping wind was incredibly refreshing after the overwhelming atmosphere of cologne, booze and body heat inside. He lit two cigarettes in his mouth and passed one to me.  
  
“Gerard, what’s wrong? Is there something you wanna like, talk about?” Bert asked, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth. “You’re like, completely sober.”  
I froze up and stared at him, wide-eyed. He let out a satisfied chuckle.  
“Come on, you fuckin idiot. I _know_ you. No one nurses one glass of champagne for that long. It’s probably completely flat by now. You’re not fooling anyone. ”  
“Yeah.” I sighed, pouring the remaining liquid out on the ground and setting the glass down on into a pot of flowers.  
“How come you wanted to come out if you don’t wanna party? Aren’t you supposed to like, avoid people like me?” He asked. I couldn’t read his expression. He was being alarmingly observant, considerate and insightful for a drunk person.  
“I’m sorry…”I sighed. “I’m not trying to like, harsh your vibe or anything, dude. It’s just, everyone in my life is so serious and unhappy right now. I just needed to get away from everything you know? I like hanging around you. You’re refreshingly happy and carefree. It’s a better escape than any drug I’ve ever tried. I always feel better when I’m around you.” The words had just kind of vomited out, but it felt good to say them.  
He didn’t reply, just stared at me with this confused, contented grin.  
“You’re not mad are you?” I asked nervously, taking a puff of my cigarette.  
“No.” he chuckled, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette. “ _Fuck no_. That’s like… the nicest thing anyone’s said about me in awhile. That’s all.”  
“Oh… well, you’re welcome then.” I said, flashing him a grin.  
“It’s that stupid asshole in your band, isn’t it?” Bert said.  
I nodded, darting my gaze out over the busy street below.  
“Is he like, _that_ important? Can’t you just get a new guitarist? I mean I know you’re in love with him and everything but…” he trailed off.  
“How do you even know that? _Shit._ ” I chuckled incredulously.  
“I dunno man… You mean aside from the little stories you wrote about him that everyone’s so fucking upset about? ...You took his side the other night. You’d have to _really_ love someone to take their side of a fight at _my_ record release party.” He laughed.  
“Yeah… Sorry about that.” I said, running a hand through my hair.  
“No sweat, man. I’ll admit I was being an asshole.” He said, puffing his smoke. “So was he though. He just walked up and started acting like he fucking _owned_ you. Fucker was trying to tell me **my** business with you.”  
“He was just trying to protect me after what went down the last time you and me hung out.” I shrugged.  
“Don’t defend him, Gerard. He fucking punched you in the face that night, remember? You still have a bruise from that shit. I’m sorry but you deserve so much more, dude. I’d fuckin kill to have someone like you. If he doesn’t realize that, he’s not worth your fuckin time.”  
“That’s really nice of you to say...” I said, exhaling smoke. “I’m stuck in this weird limbo. Cause like, I want to be with him. Or, I _thought_ I did. But there’s a clause in the contract with our record label that basically says that fucking another band member voids our fuckin deal.”  
“Oh… Fuck that.” he said, rolling his eyes and tossing the end of his cigarette over the edge of the balcony. He quickly lit another one.  
“Yeah. So like, it almost doesn’t even matter how I feel about it.” I sighed.  
“No, I mean, _Fuck that_. There’s always loopholes. Always. If he’s not even bothering to look for one then he’s a fuckin dumbass...” He said, exhaling smoke.  
I hadn’t even thought of that. Of course Bert would be the one to give me shifty legal advice that could potentially fix everything but also quite possibly ruin my career.  
“Bert?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Thanks for saying all that. I think I really needed to hear it.” I said, leaning over and planting a kiss on his cheek.  
“No problem, Gee. I know you’re all in love with that asshole right now or whatever but when you get over him, my offer still stands. I know I’m kind of a fuck-up and I’m usually too high to remember shit like birthdays or anniversaries… but I’d treat you right. I really would.”  
“I know you would. You’re a good friend.” I said, I flicked my cigarette off the balcony railing behind him and wrapped an arm around him for a sort of side hug. I leaned my head on his shoulder.  
It was about that time that a group of people stepped out onto the balcony. They saw us all caught up in our moment and asked to take our picture. I didn’t mind being seen with Bert. People could make their assumptions about our relationship if they wanted to.  
“Frankie’s gonna flip when that hits the internet.” Bert chuckled under his breath, squeezing my shoulder.  
  
I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I answered when I saw that it was Mikey.  
“You wanna tell me what the fuck you’re doing out with Bert McCracken?” He said angrily as soon as I brought the phone to my ear.  
It hadn’t hit the internet yet and Mikey _already_ fucking knew about it.  
Bert wrapped his arm around my shoulder and planted a kiss on my cheek as the photographer snapped another picture of us. I made at face at the camera as he snapped one more.  
“Mikey I’m not-”  
“Don’t even try to fucking lie to me.” He said. “I’m coming to get you.”  
“No, Mikey, _listen._ ” I said, pulling away from Bert. “I’m completely sober. I’m just at a party.”  
“With Bert McCracken!? Gerard, what kind of masochistic ex-junkie hangs around a penthouse party with Bert fucking McCracken _sober._ You realize how stupid that sounds, right?”  
“Think whatever you want to, M. I’m not making this up. Come pick me up if that’s what you want.”  
“That’s exactly what I want.” He said, voice layered with worry.  
“Okay _fine_. Call me when you’re downstairs.” I said, dropping the call.  
  
I didn’t need to give him an address. iIkey knew everyone that was worth knowing. He was probably already halfway to the party by the time I hung up.  
“You leavin me?” Bert asked.  
“Yeah.. I guess someone told my brother I was here.” I said.  
“Mikey? He’s still a tight-wound motherfucker then, huh?” he asked.  
“Totally is.” I chuckled.  
“Well it was nice to see you, Gee. I hope you can sort things out with Frank...” Bert sighed. “Even though he totally doesn’t deserve you.”  
“Jesus Bert, I’m not dying. I’m just going home.” I laughed.  
“Oh. I just figured you wouldn’t wanna hang out again since you’re all cool and sober now.” He said, raising his eyebrows in surprise.  
“I wanna hang out again, dude. I had fun tonight. Uh call me?” I said.  
“You got it.” He purred, pecking me on the cheek. I squeezed his shoulder and disappeared into the crowded penthouse.  
  
The elevator was refreshingly silent as it shot down to the lobby. Once out of the hotel I lit a cigarette and waited for Mikey to show up. He pulled up some 15 minutes later, stopping the car directly in front of me.  
I slid into the passenger seat without complaining.  
“ _Ok Gerard, what the fuck?_ ” Mikey asked as soon as I’d closed the door. He was tightly gripping the steering wheel.  
“I don’t get what you’re so mad about?” I said flatly. It wasn’t true. I knew exactly why he was upset.  
“I’m not mad at you, I’m just freaked out. What would you think if you were me and you got a call that your supposedly sober brother was seen with a glass of champagne hanging off fucking Bert McCracken?”  
“I know how it sounds, M. I’m sorry-”  
“And you fucking disappeared on the band today” he interrupted. “You fucking promised you wouldn’t do this. I’m sorry I just… I don’t understand. What the fuck is going on with you, Gee?” He said, voice wobbling. He sounded like he was about to cry.  
“Mikey smell my breath.” I said, leaning over and breathing on his face. “See? No alcohol. I’m sober I promise.”  
“Why’d you have to go out and scare the shit out of me like that? If you wanted to go out I could’ve taken you out.” He said sadly, putting the car in drive.  
“I’m sorry. I’m just having a hard time dealing with everything that happened with Frank.” I swallowed hard. “Y’know. Heartbreak and stuff. I just wanted to get away from anything and anyone that might remind me of him. Bert hates him so… I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”  
“I thought you said you guys were doing better?” He asked.  
“We are. Sort of. Not really. I don’t know.” I sighed.  
“What happened when he tried to talk to you this afternoon? I thought you guys were gonna make up or make out or… something?”  
“That was a total nightmare.” I groaned. “I don’t even want to talk about it.”  
“Okay. Well just… fucking tell me next time you wander off into the night with your ex-junkie friends okay? I almost had a heart attack when I found out where you were.”  
“Okay.” I agreed, staring out the window. The streets were still soggy with rain. The streetlamps and traffic lights glistened off the road. It was pretty, I thought.  
One thing in particular had stood out about my conversation with Bert. I almost felt petty for caring about it so much but I couldn't help myself. He'd called all my fics "little stories". He didn't give a shit about how lame and embarrassing it was that I'd written them. He was the first person I'd spoken to who'd just dismissed them as a tiny part of who I was. He was a good friend. Not even just a good friend. Bert was a _good person_.  
  
Mikey dropped me off at home, scolding me one final time for scaring him the way I had.  
I walked through my apartment towards my bedroom, not even bothering to turn on any of the lights. I kicked off my shoes and collapsed onto my bed.  
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It couldn’t have been Mikey, he wouldn’t have gotten home yet. I pulled it out. I had 2 texts from Frank. I didn’t want to read them but I couldn’t _not_ read them. Not in my pathetic sleepy, sad state. I missed him too fucking much.  
 _“I guess it’s none of my fucking business. I wish you’d just talk to me about it though.”_ the older of the 2 messages said. It probably made sense in the context of the earlier messages he had sent. I’d deleted those though, so I had no idea what the hell he was talking about.  
I opened the one he’d just sent.  
  
 _“I can’t fucking sleep without you here.”_ It said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so... this story isn't transforming into a GERBERT. I pretty promise.  
> I don't ship it.  
> This was more of a writing exercise for me. In fics, esp Frerard, Bert always gets written as Gerard's nightmarish, druggie ex-boyfriend. Or they just have a straight up bland platonic relationship.  
> I wanted to write Bert as someone Gerard is close to, that actually helps him out and is like, good and supportive. So yeah, no gerbert... sorry.  
> Let me know what you think? <3  
> I've been updating this like crazy. It feels good man.


	14. Shut Up

_Don’t fucking reply.  
Don’t fucking reply.  
Don’t fucking reply._  
I was not going to reply to Frank’s text.  
 _Don’t you dare fucking reply._  
  
My phone buzzed again and it startled me so much I almost threw it across the room. It was just another text from Frank. My fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before I could open the message.  
 _“Are you awake?”_ It said.  
 _“Yes.”_ I typed, hesitating over the ‘send’ button. My phone buzzed again before I could actually press it.  
 _“Please just talk to me.”_ it read.  
 _“Hi Frank.”_ I sent back.  
I regretted it instantly because all of a sudden Frank was calling me. I groaned loudly. I didn’t wanna fucking talk on the phone. My defenses were crumbling way _too easily._  
I answered the call and brought the phone to my ear.  
“Hey Frankie.” I sighed.  
“Gerard?” he breathed.  
 _“Yeah?”_ I replied.  
“Can I… can I come over?” he asked, his voice was shaky and wrecked.  
 _“No.”_ I said. _Fuck. Fuck. Of course he wanted to come over._ “Just… no.”  
“Please Gerard. I need to talk to you and-”  
“Ok fine.” I interrupted. I took a deep breath and tried to resist the urge to hang up. “But no fucking talking. I’m so fucking done with talking today, Frank.”  
“Ok? But, what about- I- You-” he stammered. “Ok... I’ll be there soon.”  
He hung up before I could protest.  
  
I dropped my phone on the bed and stared up into the darkness. I had maybe 15 to 20 minutes before Frank showed up. That was 15 to 20 minutes to decide if this was a booty call or not.  
I changed out of my shirt, after taking a whiff and realizing it smelled like champagne, sweat and 500 different kinds of cologne all mixed together. I didn’t have time to shower the smell out of my hair. I swished a few sips of water in my mouth to reduce the cigarette taste and just stood in my kitchen for a moment, silently panicking. Should I turn on the TV and pretend like I had been watching a movie? Should I leave all the lights off? I had been about to go to sleep after all.  
What did Frank even want from me? _Fuck. I should have just said ‘no’._  
We weren’t friends, so we weren’t really friends _with benefits._ Definitely not lovers, or boyfriends. We weren’t really anything at all. Not after everything that had happened.  
Before I could come to any conclusions there was a knock at the door. I quickly made my way through the living room and pulled the door open. Light flooded in from the hallway as the door swung open.  
Frank was standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets, eyes puffy and dark. He looked pallid under the harsh lighting. We just stared at each other silently for a moment that seemed to go on for an eternity. He looked just as wiped out and miserable as he’d sounded on the phone.  
“Hey.” I mumbled awkwardly. “Uh, come in.”  
He hesitated for a moment before stepping in through the doorway. I closed the door behind us and locked it, drowning us in the darkness of the apartment.  
The second the lock slid into place Frank pressed himself against me in a tight hug. I could feel him shaking as I awkwardly wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He buried his face in my chest and let out a breath that sounded somewhere between a sigh and a sob.  
“What happened to staying the fuck away from me?” I whispered into his hair, breathing him in.  
“Sorry.” he mumbled, hugging me tighter.  
 _“Frank...”_ I breathed not really sure what I intended to say. I was so exhausted from everything.  
“I’m so sorry about earlier…” he said in a shaky, wobbly voice as he pulled away enough to try and look at me in dim. “I know I shouldn’t have-”  
“Shut up.” I interrupted. “No talking, remember?”  
He nodded.  
“Or no... we can talk, just nothing about you or me, or you and me... or Bert, or our band, or me relapsing. I’m just… so fucking done.” I sighed.  
“Whatever you want, Gee.” he mumbled, resting his cheek on my shoulder.  
“Do you need anything?” I asked, running my fingers through his hair.  
“No.” he mumbled. “I just wanted to be here... with you… _shit..._ does that count as talking about you and me?”  
“No.” I said, pressing a kiss to his temple. My heart fluttered anxiously at the contact.  
He let out a long, sad sigh. “I just… I wish you could have seen the look on your face when you left the studio today. You looked like you never wanted to see me again. So my nightmares were-”  
I thought I would have a fucking panic attack if he kept talking. I’d already told him to shut up and that obviously hadn’t worked at all. I grabbed his face and kissed him. He couldn’t keep talking if his lips were busy, right? He wrapped his fingers around my wrists as he kissed back, sighing into my mouth.  
I pulled away enough just to speak. “Everything doesn’t have to be so life-and-death with us, Frankie.” I said softly, pressing my forehead against his. “You fucking told me I don’t love you and that… that _sucked_. I think I’m allowed to be mad at you.”  
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He whispered, shaky fingers tracing along my spine.  
 _Well you fucking said it like that,_ I thought.  
“Shut up. I don’t want to fight about this. Just… s _hut the fuck up, Frank, please.”_ I groaned. _Before I fucking tell you I love you or something stupid like that._  
There was a pause. I couldn’t make out his expression in the dark. Perhaps I’d offended him and now he wanted to leave.  
He gently pressed his lips against my cheek and let out a sad sigh.  
“Come on...” I mumbled, pulling him down the hallway by the arm.  
  
“Do you want to watch TV or a movie or something?” I asked, flicking on the light on my bedside table. Frank perched on the edge of my bed and wrapped his arms around himself.  
“No. I’ll just… fall asleep…” he yawned. I watched as he looked around my room curiously. I felt incredibly self-conscious as his eyes catalogued all the little details. I wondered if he was assessing whether or not this was a place he’d want to come back to. The look on his face wasn’t something I was supposed to see but he was too tired to conceal it.  
“Isn’t that the point?” I asked. He turned to look at me and smiled sadly.  
“Yeah… I guess you’re right. Just… pick something without a lot of guts and screaming. I’ve got enough of that going on up here.” He said, tapping his index finger against his temple.  
I turned the TV on and flicked off the lights. The room was illuminated by the eerie blue light on the screen. I sat down beside him on the edge of the bed and flipped to a random channel in the middle of a commercial break. The volume was low on the TV.  
The silence between us was thick and uncomfortable as we both stared blankly at the screen. Frank scooted closer to me and rested his head on my shoulder. I slid my arm around his waist and rested my cheek against the top of his head. He shifted then and wrapped both of his arms around me in a side hug that required him to bend his spine uncomfortably.  
I was too confused to pull him down on the bed with me. I wanted to scream. I couldn’t figure out how even alone in the dark I was afraid to touch him.  
“Do you wanna talk about the dreams you had?” I mumbled. I had to peel my eyes away from the screen when a commercial for an expensive brand of rum came on. The urge for a drink presented itself at the back of my mind.  
“I don’t know. Are you gonna tell me to shut up again?” He asked coldly.  
“...No.” I said.  
“You know, we’re never going to work through this if you keep walking out on me and telling me to shut up.” He said.  
“I don’t want to work through it, Frank.” I sighed.  
“Why not?” He asked, lifting his head up to look up at me.  
“I want things to stay the way they are now. I’d rather wait around for you to decide you don’t like me than actually have to deal with the reality of you not liking me.”  
“But I like you.” He said.  
“ _No, you don’t._ ” I shot back.  
“How do you know that? What do you think I’m doing at your place in the middle of the night? Of course I fucking like you.” He said incredulously, voice rising in pitch. He sat up and stared at me with a hard expression, the television distorted the shadows that formed against the profile of his face.  
“Frank,” I sighed, sliding my arm off of him. “ If you liked me, you wouldn’t-”  
“We signed a fucking _contract_ , Gerard. Don’t tell me what I’d do if I really liked you. Fuck you.” He spat.  
I stared at him, completely speechless. This was the exact conversation I had no interest in having.  
“Listen. I am _trying_ to find a way out of this.” He continued. “I promise I’ll find a way.”  
“Don’t promise shit like that.” I whispered.  
I blinked at him as he framed my face with his palms.  
“I fucking promise, Gerard.” He said softly.  
I sighed.  
  
“...You look so fucking tired. I’m sure I don’t look much better.” He said. “Let’s go to sleep.“  
He pulled me down onto the bed and into his arms. His lips pressed against my cheek.  
“Someday… I’m going to make you all mine…” he said softly against my ear.  
I swallowed hard and shivered, willing myself to not think about what he meant by that. If I thought about the sounds Frank made when I had him half-naked and thrusting into my hand I’d be so fucking screwed.  
“But until I can find a way we are just gonna have to live with nights like tonight.”  
He pulled a blanket over us and planted a kiss against my forehead.  
  
 _Nights like tonight are enough. I love you so much. Good night._ I thought but couldn’t find the strength to say out loud as I drifted off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might delete/rewrite this part. i don't like it.  
> -m


	15. The Underworld

The week or so that followed was incredibly disorienting.  
Frank and I spent the daylight hours mostly just trying to ignore and avoid each other for fear of killing each other. It was hard to keep my cool when it felt like there was a big sign above my head that read “ **Frank and I jacked each other off once and he spends the night like, all the time.** ”  
If we didn’t stand at opposite ends of the room during band practice things would quickly get out of hand. I’d tell the band how I thought a chord progression to go. It would start with Frank saying he thought there should be a fill or a bridge or a guitar solo and escalate to us arguing about something stupid, like how I (supposedly) thought Frank’s guitar tracks didn’t matter as much as Ray’s.  
When Frank was accusing me of this or that I’d look into his eyes and see burning. He’d never admit it, but he burned for me as much as I burned for him. There was no way he didn’t.  
Whenever we’d argue in front of the band they’d all just sit there quietly and look away until Frank stormed out of the room to chain smoke for 20 minutes. He’d always cool down enough to come back and act like nothing happened. Maybe the rest of the band thought we’d work through whatever needed to be worked through if we could just yell at each other for awhile. There were a few times where Ray tried (and failed) to break it up. After a few trials he gave up on that entirely.  
One time Bob had mumbled that when we argued we sounded like an old, unhappy married couple and Frank went red in the face. Ray tried to purse his lips and suppress his smile but failed miserably. That was one of the days Frank didn’t come back after smoking.  
Bob had spent the rest of the afternoon chuckling and saying, “ _What?!_ I don’t get why he got so upset about that?!”  
  
Frank and I spent most nights pitifully trying to console each other. Frank had his nightmares and I had my demons. I never slept for very long. I’d always wake up when I’d hear Frank having bad dreams. We’d kiss and talk until he could fall asleep again.  
We would sit on the edge of the bed -sometimes mine, sometimes his- and argue until we were too tired to do anything else but curl up in each others arms and go to sleep.  
Sometimes he’d bring up whatever we fought about at band practice earlier in the day. Sometimes we’d just accuse each other of not really caring.  
After a few nights we’d decided it was best if we kept the talking to the minimum. I’d pointed out to him that I’d only promised to be there to help him through the nightmares and nothing else. After that, we could barely speak to each other comfortably.  
All that was left was this frail shell of a thing. We would hold onto each other in the dark, occasionally kissing when we weren’t feeling too confused about everything.  
I tried to tell myself that what we had was better than losing him completely but every morning I woke up next to him I started to doubt it more and more.  
  
Nights I didn’t spend in limbo with Frank I kept busy by wandering out into the underworld with Bert.  
Night’s with Bert were… _nights with Bert_. We’d crash parties and sell drugs and make new friends.  
There were a couple of times where guys buying from Bert tried to pick me up. I started to wonder if it would be healthy for me to start seeing someone I could actually just go for. I was tired of sneaking around all the time. I craved the normality of a straightforward date.  
Bert was there to kindly remind me that I didn’t want to get caught up in the kind of guy that would pick me up at the kind of parties we went to. Things would get messy when they realized that I was sober and it could only end two ways: I’d either relapse again or I’d have to stop seeing them entirely when we realized how different our priorities were.  
Bert was the only person I could completely talk to about my quasi-relationship with Frank. I could be honest with him about everything because he was detached enough from the situation. The only thing that he didn’t like about Frank was that he still ‘acted like he owned me’ but didn’t want the world to know he owned me. Bert said it was stupid I was with someone who wasn’t proud to be with me. I’d explained that there were legal repercussions but he still thought it was wrong of Frank. If I was Bert’s _everyone_ would know about it, he’d say. I was ‘too pretty’ to not show off.  
  
I let out a yawn and rolled over, wrapping my arm around Frank. I buried my face in his shirt.  
“ _Wrong boyfriend._ ” Bert chuckled, scaring the shit out of me. I looked up and realized I was in Bert’s room, not Frank’s.  
“Shit. Sorry dude.” I croaked.  
“No complaints here, baby.” He said with a smirk, patting my hair.  
I rolled over onto my back and looked up at the ceiling. I was so out of it I didn’t even know where I was waking up anymore.  
“Sleep well?” he asked.  
“Like the dead.” I said. “How ‘bout you?”  
“Don’t remember my dreams which is _usually_ a good sign. I’m hungover. Let’s order pizza.” He yawned.  
“Can we get extra pepperoni?” I asked.  
“Duh…. go get me a glass of water? I’m thirsty.” He commanded, giving me his best puppy eyes.  
“Yes dear.” I chuckled.  
I slid out of the bed and headed for the kitchen to fetch Bert a glass of water.  
“You’re too good to me.” He said when I returned with the glass. I smiled and curled up into bed next to him. He had his phone pressed to his ear.  
“Dammit.’ he muttered, ending the call. “They don’t open for another hour. Let me try the other place.” He took a sip of water and called the other pizza place down the street.  
We laid in his bed eating pizza and watching cartoons until I had to leave for band practice.  
“You still coming to the thing later?” He asked as I was sliding into my coat.  
“Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it.” I grinned.  
“Cool.” he said, running his fingers through his tangled blonde hair. “Meet me around 10?”  
“Yeah. I’ll call you.”  
He pecked me on the cheek before I disappeared out the door.  
  
Band practice felt never-ending and went a lot worse than normal. Frank didn’t say a single fucking word to me. Bert’s whole thing about Frank being ashamed of our relationship stung as I watched Frank set up his guitar and tune with Ray. We made eye contact for a split second and my heart fluttered. I let out a deep sigh and got down to business.  
I really couldn’t have been happier when practice was over. I dropped my car off at my apartment and caught a cab over to Bert’s favorite meeting spot: a lame, divey bar in the middle of the city.  
We decided to walk to the party from the bar. Bert was too drunk to care how cold it was and I needed the head-clearing chills to keep myself together. I ignored the calls I was getting from Frank. He probably just wanted to come over and after the way the way I’d felt at practice earlier the last thing I was in the mood to do was argue and cuddle.  
“So… listen, Gee, I read some of that shit you wrote… like, about Frankie?” Bert said.  
“Why?” I groaned.  
“You’re into some kinky shit, my friend.” Bert chuckled, punching my arm playfully. “I mean, there was nothing in there that I wouldn’t try myself, but still…”  
“Oh my god.” I moaned. “Bert, _why?_ ”  
“Hey man, you’re the one who put it all on the internet.” He slurred, tossing me a shit-eating grin. “You sure your boy is into all that stuff?”  
“I’m _so_ not having this conversation with you.” I said. I tried to sound mad but I ended up laughing.  
“Whatever.” He said, almost tripping on a crack in the sidewalk.  
  
Tonight the plan was to have a good time and if we were able to push the baggie of pills Bert had… well that would just be the icing on the cake.  
For awhile I was lounged on a couch in a quiet room off to the side, chainsmoking. It was rare that we went to parties where you could smoke inside and I intended to relish in every moment of it.  
I reached into my pocket for the pack of cigarettes to grab another and felt the bag of pills. I took it out of my pocket and glanced down at it. I was the best kind of small-time drug dealer because I had no intention of sampling the product. I knew exactly what those pills would do to me. I craved the feeling but I wouldn’t chase it. I pinched the capsules in the bag in between my thumb and index finger. The weight was familiar, comforting somehow. It reminded me of living at home and hanging out with Mikey.  
“You can be such a masochist...” Bert said, crossing the room and sitting down beside me. He lit a cigarette and rested his head against the back of the couch.  
“Yeah.” I sighed.  
“It can’t be healthy.” Bert said, sucking on his cigarette.  
“It’s probably not.” I admitted.  
“Frankie would be awful mad if he caught you in the middle of this shit.” he pointed out.  
“Fuck him.” I shrugged.  
“You guys fighting again or something? Like… I mean, more than usual?” Bert asked.  
“No… I’m just burnt out on the way things have been going, I guess?”  
“...Too much of the same shit. Maybe you need to get away for a minute?” He shrugged. “Just a weekend or something. Go out to the woods… take your boy...”  
I shot him a look.  
“You two still not fucking?” Bert asked.  
“No.” I said quickly, my face flushing.  
“If anyone finds out how much time you spend alone together they’re just gonna assume you’re fucking anyways.” He pointed out.  
I felt my phone buzzing in my pocket and dug it out to avoid having to comment on that.  
“ _Where are you?_ ” The text from Frank from just over an hour ago read.  
“ _Please let me know you’re okay. I’m fucking worried._ ” The more recent one read.  
“ _Just peachy._ ” I replied.  
I glanced up at Bert and then back down at the screen. Frank was calling me but I let it ring and go to voicemail.  
“ _Come over._ ” he texted. He was starting to get too familiar with my cellphone habits. He knew I’d read his texts right away, even if I never picked up the phone.  
  
“Speak of the devil, huh? You need to go to him?” Bert asked.  
“I don’t even know anymore… But yeah I should probably go.” I sighed.  
“I’d say you could just invite him here but…” He chuckled, puffing his cigarette.  
I laughed weakly, trying to picture Frank’s face as his eyes fell on the bag of pills in my hand. I felt sick just thinking about it.  
Bert nodded as I handed him the rest of the pills in the bag and left the room. I waded through the crowded dancefloor and made my way outside. I caught a cab, watching the pretty city lights in a daze on the way to Frank’s.  
  
I didn’t need to text him back, he knew I was coming. I let myself in with the spare key he’d given me and made my way to his room sliding out of my coat and kicking off my shoes in the hallway.  
He was sitting in bed with the TV remote in his hand. He had deep circles under his eyes and a spaced out look on his face. His eyebrows twitched a little when I slid into the room. It was the only indication I’d get that he was happy to see me. I sat down beside him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I pulled him close and placed a chaste kiss to his neck.  
“Hi.” I whispered.  
He dropped the remote and turned to wrap his arms around my neck.  
“Hi.” He whispered back.  
The silence of the room was refreshing after spending hours at a crowded party. My ears were still ringing from the music.  
“You smell different.” He said softly. “Where were you? Out somewhere? ”  
“Out.” I replied.  
I knew it wasn’t enough of an explanation but he nodded and smiled as if it was.  
He laid down, pulling me down with him. I curled myself around him and breathed him in, pressing sloppy kisses along his neck. He let out a deep yawn and laced his fingers in between mine.  
I gently stroked my thumb against the back of his hand. His breaths gradually spread out until they were slow and deep.  
“I love you… so much.” he whispered.  
I held my breath. I hadn’t expected Frank to say those words out loud… like, _ever_.  
“Frankie?” I asked softly, but he didn’t reply. He was already fast asleep. If he said it in his sleep, there was no way to tell if it was real.  
But for now I was just going to pretend it was.


	16. Transgression

Early morning rays of sun tinted the sky a pale yellow behind the clouded sky. I buried my face in the crook of Frank’s neck, listening to his shaky breaths and speeding heartbeat. Sometimes he’d be able to control his dreams and slip out of the nightmare himself. The way his breathing hitched was all I needed to know he couldn’t fight this one on his own.  
I slid my fingers up the back of his shirt and drew slow, soft patterns on his skin.  
“Frankie, wake up.” I mumbled against his ear.  
I pressed my lips against his jaw. A desperate squeak vibrated in his throat.  
 _“Frank.”_ I said firmly, hugging him tight.  
A shiver passed through his entire body. I could feel him twitch uneasily. And then he was awake… curling up in on himself and breathing heavily. I held him quietly until his labored breathing evened out. I pressed a kiss into his hair.  
“Fuck.” He groaned as he started to snap out of it, adrenaline dwindling, muscles relaxing.  
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked softly.  
He shook his head and crushed himself up against my chest.  
I wasn’t sure how long we laid there drifting in and out of sleep. Frank would begin to whimper every time he’d slip into his dreams. In that place somewhere in between my dreams and reality I fretted over how I’d ask him if he meant it when he said he loved me. My heart fluttered at the thought.  
But I just couldn’t bring myself to get the words out of my mouth.  
Just like I couldn’t ask if he wanted to ditch New Jersey with me for awhile after we were done with recording. We could go away somewhere where we wouldn’t have to hide out in dim bedrooms when we wanted to touch each other. Maybe somewhere along the West Coast where it didn’t get so humid in the summer. We could get an apartment above a tattoo parlor, close to a comic store. Frank could get a dog and-.  
I’d written too much about us. I’d thought _way too fucking much_ about us.  
My mind would always slip into these meticulously built universes where I loved him and he loved me right back. Even in those universes where Frank was a vampire I still fell for him in the end.  
  
Frank kissed me gently after he’d managed to pull himself out of another almost-nightmare. His lips softly moved against mine. His uneven breaths tickled my face. If his dream was something bad about me he would always kiss me when he woke up. That’s how I could tell it had been about me.  
There was an unspoken agreement and coinciding set of rules that forbode us from kissing more than a few times.  
1.Our tongues had to stay in their respective mouths.  
2.Any use of the hands had to be above the belt.  
3.No hair pulling.  
4.No pushing/grinding with the hips.  
5.No stradling.  
Those were the rules I’d set for myself anyway. If I didn’t carefully follow those rules, I was not to be trusted. Especially not first thing in the morning when I was still groggy.  
I was sure Frank had his own version of the rules.  
There had been one time I thought things had gotten out of hand. I’d woken up from an incredibly vivid and steamy dream that Frank had been sucking me off. I woke up in a sweaty panic, terrified we’d jeopardized everything.  
“Maybe you should see a doctor or something?” I whispered after he’d pulled his lips away.  
He froze and looked at me with a distressed frown.  
“Why?” He asked. “You tired of me and my stupid bullshit already?”  
“No...” I assured, pressing my lips to his forehead. “ _Fuck you_ for even thinking that. It’s just that neither of us are sleeping through the night.”  
“Yeah…” he sighed, curling up against my chest again.  
“You obviously don’t have to do anything you don’t want to... _but_ I think you should see someone.” I said, running my fingers through his hair. “I’ll go with you if you want.”  
Frank let out a deep sigh but didn’t respond. I braced myself for the arguing to start.  
“It was just a suggestion. Please don’t be mad at me.” I said softly, hugging him tighter.  
“I’m not mad at you.” he mumbled into my shirt. “I just… don’t fucking deserve you.”  
  
Frank ended up making an appointment with his general practitioner for later that week. That doctor referred him to a psychiatrist. He asked me to drop him off and pick him up from his first few appointments, which I did without hesitation.  
But like most things, we didn’t talk about it much.  
It was late one afternoon when it finally came up. Frank sat silently in the passenger seat of my car with the radio off. He liked for everything to be very quiet after his visits with the doctor. He stared out the window at the grey clouds looming overhead.  
“My doctor says I’m really fucking stressed out.” he said suddenly when the car was stopped at a red light.  
“Huh.” I offered dumbly. There were a thousand questions I wanted to ask. I had no idea where to start.  
“They gave me a prescription...” He continued. “So sorry in advance if I get weird...”  
 _I’ll still love you no matter what._ I thought but didn’t say. The car behind us honked when I didn’t notice the traffic light had turned green. I put my foot on the gas pedal, absently chewing on my fingernails with one hand, steering the car with the other.  
“I’ll… I’m-I’ll always be here for you.” I mumbled.  
Frank slid his hand across the space between us and rested it on my thigh. He slowly stroked at the fabric with his thumb.  
“Thanks.” he said softly “You’re a good friend, Gerard.”  
  
We stopped at the pharmacy on the way back to Frank’s place to pick up his new meds. We wandered the aisles of the drug store as we waited for the pharmacist to prepare his prescription. He got distracted by the small section of toys between the magazines and the greeting cards. He picked up a pink plastic sword with a neon orange handle and spun on his heels to hit me on the arm with it.  
“Fight me, Gee!” he said, with a small smile on his lips.  
“How old are you?” I grumbled, ripping the sword from his hand and pulling him away from the toys and into the next aisle.  
“What? All of a sudden you’re mad you’re dating a fucking 5 year old?” He chuckled, letting me pull him along.  
“I’m mad I’m _what?”_ I squeaked.  
“I… oh…. I guess I… I meant like...” he stuttered awkwardly.  
Before Frank could compose himself my brain had already found an entirely new set of things to zero in on and freak out about…  
I’d pulled him in front of the store’s selection of condoms. His mumbled apologies were framed by colorful boxes promising hot-n-cold sensations, fruity flavors, and the thinnest, most sensitive available on the market. It took a moment to catch up and realize the look on my face had nothing to do with what he’d said in the toy aisle.  
“Are you even listening to me? What are you even-” He said, turning his head. “ _Oh.”_  
He glanced over at me and then back at the boxes, considering them.  
“Should we-?” He asked. “To be safe, y’know? Just in case we can’t… _stop.”_  
“It’s never been a problem before.” I shrugged. Well, tried to shrug, it was more like a nervous twitch.  
“It’s been getting harder to not... For _me_ at least…” He said in a low voice, stepping closer to me. “Maybe it hasn’t gotten harder for you but I’m going fucking crazy.”  
“It’s been hard for me too.” I admitted softly, face flushing into an obvious blush. “But you know why we can’t.” I stared down at the floor.  
He reached for my hand. I tried to pull it away but he seized it and laced our fingers together.  
“Frank, _don’t._ Not here.” I whimpered.  
“Gerard, I-” Frank started.  
“IERO TO THE PHARMACY COUNTER.” a droning voice buzzed over the the intercom, startling both of us. Frank’s prescriptions were ready.  
We stood there, staring at each other for a moment. I had no idea what the fuck to say and it didn’t look like he did either. He took a step towards me and leaned in.  
“Hold that thought.” He said under his breath, glancing around to make sure no one was looking, and pressed a kiss to my cheek.  
“I’ll wait for you in the car.” I nodded, swallowing hard.  
I made my way out of the store and climbed into the car. I closed my eyes and pressed my forehead against the steering wheel, trying to focus on my breathing or the muffled sounds of traffic outside of the car. Anything that wasn’t what had just taken place between us.  
It had been getting harder to follow the rules. I thought that had just been me though. What had he been about to say?  
I kept my eyes closed when Frank finally opened the door and slid into the passenger seat a short while later. He set a plastic bag by his feet. I heard the faint, familiar sound of pills rolling around inside a bottle.  
I lifted my head up and started the car. We drove to his apartment in silence. I had no idea what to say. I was trying desperately to keep my brain from pushing over into panic mode.  
“Gerard?” Frank mumbled.  
I made a small humming sound, not trusting my brain to come up with acceptable words.  
He sighed deeply. His fingers tapped out an anxious beat on his knee.  
“Nothing.” he said dejectedly. “Nevermind.”  
  
  
Frank set the bag from the drugstore down on his kitchen counter and fished out his bottle of pills. He stared at the label on the orange bottle.  
I glanced at the counter top to try and fight the curiosity at what they’d prescribed him. My eyes fell on the other contents of the bag from the drugstore.  
“You bought-”  
A box of condoms and a bottle of lube rested side by side, partially obscured by the shopping bag. I glanced over at Frank. His face had gone bright red. He stared at me with his lips pressed in a tight line.  
“Frank, you shouldn’t have-”  
“I’m not trying to suggest we use them right this second, Gerard. I told you it’s for just in case!” He interrupted. The blush on his cheeks deepened.  
“But-” I squeaked.  
“My doctor told me I should be honest with you about things. Even if it means we fight more. So-”  
“You told your doctor about us?” I asked.  
“You just sort of… came up. _I don’t know!_ Don’t change the fucking subject!” He yelled.  
He set the bottle on the counter and ran his hand through his hair.  
“I can’t do this anymore…” He said. “I just…” He sighed dramatically.  
“Can’t do _what?_ ” I asked softly. He couldn’t have been talking about us. Buying condoms and breaking up didn’t usually go together in my experience.  
“I just… _fuck,_ Gerard.” He growled, wrapping his arms around my waist and leaning in to press his lips against mine. I was too stunned to kiss back.  
“Why did you have to write so goddamn much about us fucking?” He asked softly. “I know exactly what you want me to do to you in _excruciating_ detail and it’s driving me insane.”  
“How much of it did you read?” I whispered.  
“ _Every fucking word._ ” he mumbled against my ear, sending pleasurable sensations shooting down my spine.  
He framed my face with his palms and kissed me hard, quickly breaking rules 1 and 4. His tongue slid into my mouth as he pinned me against the counter with his hips. My mind was a million years behind my body, which could no longer be trusted to follow the rules. I gripped Frank’s hips, threading my thumbs through his belt loops to pull him tighter against me.  
He slid his fingers through the hair on the back of my head and tugged, breaking rule number 3. His lips trailed down to my neck. I could feel his hard-on against my thigh. He sucked hard on the skin on my neck which pulled my brain into the moment as I quickly considered the marks that would be left behind.  
“This is a really fucking bad idea.” I groaned, sliding my hands up the back of his shirt and dragging my nails down his back.  
“ _No it isn’t. Shut the fuck up.”_ he growled, sliding a hand between us and palming at my cock through my jeans. Rule number 2… broken.  
“Make me.” I gasped.  
He pulled me by the arm down the hallway towards his bedroom. All that was left was rule number 5 and I had full intentions of letting it break.  
  
I was not to be trusted...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is kind of embarrassing but i had writers block cause i couldn't decide who tops. hahaha. omg.
> 
> with every other fic i've written i had the sex pretty well figured out. for this one i didn't for some reason? maybe it's because there's some pretty convincing arguments for both sides on tumblr and so my imagination has been skewed.


	17. Leaving Marks

We hadn’t even made it to the bed before Frank’s lips were on mine again. He pushed me against the door-frame and kissed me hard, leaning into me and tangling his fingers in my hair. The familiarity of his sweet, smoky breath made my heart flutter.  
My brain began to buzz with the reality of _oh my god this actually happening_. I tugged on the zipper on his sweatshirt. My fingers slipped as the zipper pull got stuck halfway down. He untangled one of his hands from my hair and pulled it the rest of the way down, all but ripping the garment off. His arm banged against the other side of the door frame with a sickening thud.  
“Fuck.” He hissed, letting out a small laugh. He clutched at his arm.  
“Fuck this.” He said, pressing a kiss to my lips. “Bed. _Now.”_ He instructed in between kisses, pushing me towards the bed.  
Our lips never stopped touching as he walked me backwards to the edge of the bed.  
He shoved me down on the mattress and slid between my legs, starting on the buttons on my coat. I heard the sound of his shoes drop as he kicked them off. I tried to get mine off but couldn’t with him in between my legs. My fingers slid under the hem of his shirt and pulled it up his back.  
“It’s not a race, Gee, we have all night.” He whispered playfully, helping me pull his shirt over his head.  
“I know I’m sorry. I just-” I breathed.  
“Mmmmmm… I _know._ ” He hummed, pressing sloppy kisses against my neck. He undid the last button and slid my coat open, running his hands up under my shirt. His palms felt warm against my skin.  
He sucked hard on my neck as he ground his hips tightly against mine. He let out a throaty moan at the friction. My pants weren’t quite tight enough or maybe the angle just wasn’t right. It just wasn’t _enough_. I needed to get my clothes off. I needed _more_.  
I felt his teeth against my skin. The gentle pain pulled the breath from my lungs as the capillaries broke. Just when it hit the brink of too much he stopped and placed a soft kiss to the bite-mark. He trailed kisses to another spot, biting almost harder than he had before.  
“Frank don’t-” I gasped. “Don’t leave any marks.”“Why not? No one’s going to fucking believe it was me.” He groaned against my skin. Though he must have agreed with me to some extent because he went back to softly kissing the tender, bruising skin instead of biting it.  
“We just have to be careful.” I whispered.  
“I’m gonna make you all mine and I don’t fucking care who knows.” He gritted out, sliding his hands under the shoulders of my coat. “ _Now get this fucking coat off._ ”  
I wasn’t used to Frank being so demanding and desperate. It was fucking hot.  
“I thought it wasn’t a race.” I breathed as his hips thrusted against mine, finally at that just-right angle, and the friction against my hard-on was dizzying.  
“It’s not... but you’re still wearing too much.” He groaned.  
I lifted myself off the mattress enough to slide out of my coat. Frank pressed his lips hard against mine. I kissed back urgently. He arched his back to slide a hand between us to work at the button and zipper on my jeans. His fingers slipped on the button and couldn’t get it through the hole. I nudged his hand away, and quickly pulled the button and fly open. He tugged the waist of my jeans down enough to free my cock. The release of pressure made my head swim.  
I tried to undo his belt but my fingers couldn’t figure out the mechanism.  
“Seriously?” He chuckled. Pushing my hands away and quickly undoing the belt, button and fly in one swift motion. “We are going to have to work that. That was pathetic.”  
He leaned over me, holding himself up on his arm, resting it on the mattress to the right of my head. He shoved his tongue in my mouth and started to stroke me off. My loud, embarrassing moans were muffled by his swirling tongue. I slid my hand under the waist of his boxers and palmed at his cock. I could feel the vibrations of his groans as I flicked my wrist.  
His hand motions slowed to a crazy-making, dizzying hault. He slid down my torso, out of my reach, and started to pull my jeans down my thighs. My skin covered in goosebumps at the sudden contact with the cool air. He slid off the bed to pull my jeans the rest of the way off. They caught around my ankles.  
“You still have your shoes on?” He chuckled.  
“Not a race.” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. I shivered at the cool air, feeling incredibly exposed. I glanced down at my mostly-naked form. My shirt had ridden up against my chest revealing the entire spread of my soft, pale flesh. It looked wrong in comparison to Frank’s ink-filled skin. My cheeks warmed as I realized Frank had never seen me naked like this before. I couldn’t look at his face. I was too self-conscious to want to know if he liked what he saw or not. I focused instead on his throbbing cock, which was poking out over the waistband of his boxers.  
He pulled my shoes off and slid my pants over my ankles. He slid his own pants and boxers off before climbing back on the bed to fit himself into the space beside me me. I pulled one of the blankets over top of us, in part because I was cold but mostly because I was suddenly feeling incredibly shy about my appearance.  
He kissed me slowly and passionately as he resumed jacking me off. I moaned into his mouth as he thumbed over the head of my cock, smearing the precum around. I gripped the sheets, trying not to get too lost in the feeling. I wanted the moment last as long as I could stand it. He thrusted against my hip, his own cock sliding little trails of precum onto my skin.  
He buried his face in the crook of my neck, hot breaths spreading over my chest.  
“Fuck, I forgot to grab the condoms.” I whispered.  
“I have a few in there.” He said, lifting his head up and smirking. He nodded his head in the direction of the nightstand.  
“Then why the hell did you need to buy more?” I asked. I blamed the box of condoms for everything that was happening between us. It was easier to reason that this was all some heat-of-the moment thing, spurred by the suggestion of a drugstore purchase, than it was to believe that Frank truly wanted this as much as I did.  
He stopped jacking me off and stared at me with an amused look on his pretty face.  
“Well…” He sighed, sliding his fingers against my jawline. “I have maybe 2 or 3 left in the drawer. Which is more than enough for what I’ve got in mind right now.” A smirk played on his lips at that. “But if you honestly think we’re only ever going to do this 2 or 3 times... then you’re completely insane.”  
“Oh.” I mouthed, face flushing.  
“I can’t get you out of my head... _ever._ ” he confessed, biting his lip. “The way we’ve been handling things has been fucking torture.”  
He pressed a long, slow kiss to my lips.  
“I want you every. _fucking._ day.” He whispered against my ear, carefully annunciating each word. He let out a breathy sigh as his cock slid against my thigh. “2 or 3 times doesn’t even begin to cover it.”  
It wasn’t _I love you_ but it was fucking close enough.  
“I _do_ need to go grab the lube though… that is, if you think you can last long enough for me to get around to actually fucking you.” He whispered softly against my ear, squeezing my cock.  
I gasped, hips twitching at his touch.  
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” He chuckled. “Don’t go anywhere.”  
He got up and slipped out of the room.  
“And take your fucking shirt off!” he called down the hallway.  
I was lost on his sarcasm. I don’t know where the fuck I would go when I was naked in Frank’s bed. I used the 20 seconds I had to pull my shirt off and move up onto the bed into a more workable position than the awkward spread I was currently in... Somewhat diagonal on the end of the bed. I pulled the blanket over my head, still not really accepting that any of this was real.  
I felt the mattress dip as Frank climbed under the covers, nestling up beside me. He snaked his arm around my waist and pressed a kiss to my neck. I felt the cool, smoothness of the bottle of lube brush over my skin as he pulled me close.  
“I suppose we haven’t really talked about it so uh… you’ve done this before, right?” He asked softly. “I mean, I remember seeing you with guys last time we were on tour and stuff but I guess I shouldn’t just _assume...”_  
I felt a blush creep on my face as I realized Frank was nervously asking for permission to fuck me.  
“I want you.” I breathed. “Frank, _please._ Just-”  
“You want me to fuck you, mmmm?” He hummed, sliding in between my legs.  
“Yes.” I whispered. “I’ve wanted it for so long.”  
We kissed heatedly for a moment, grinding against each other, all slip and sigh. Frank trailed heated kisses down my chest, down my side, stopping at my hip. His fingers gently slid further and further up my thigh, caressing softly. I was going to fucking lose it if he didn’t stop teasing me and _do something._  
I breathed his name in between impatient gasps. He dribbled some spit onto his palm and wrapped his hand around the base of my dick. His hand slid up, thumbing over the head before stroking back down slowly. I couldn’t hold back the whimper as my vision blacked out with pleasure.  
“Mmmm, fucking _listen to yourself,_ Gee. I seriously doubt you’re gonna last much longer.” He growled, sliding his hand up and down at a slow and steady pace. “I don’t even care. I just wanna make you cum.”  
He brought my cock into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it and slicking it with spit. Writing about Frank Iero sucking my cock and actually watching Frank Iero suck my cock were two completely different things. I hadn’t expected him to give me this evil look every time I said his name. It was so good I couldn’t stop saying his name. I hadn’t expected him to pause, stick his fingers in his mouth and then slide them over my ass before shoving my cock as deep down his throat as it would go. He massaged my ass, slowly working a finger in. I could feel him humming in the back of his throat.  
I tried to keep my thrusting to a minimum but I couldn’t stop. He just let me fuck forward into his mouth and back onto his fingers until I no longer had any concept of what the fuck was going on.  
He pulled off and started stroking right before I slammed into an orgasm.  
“Mmmmm, I know, Gee, _I know._ ” He echoed in response to way I dragged his name out in long breathy moans, kissing along my inner thigh. His tattooed fingers slid up and down as I coasted through. When I was completely spent he wiped his hand off on the sheets and curled up beside me.  
I was on cloud nine. I wanted to roll up in a little ball and sleep but before I could drift off I rolled on top of him, instantly feeling the press of his hard-on. We hadn’t even gotten a chance to open the lube yet so I felt around in the darkness for the bottle. It had slid away from us in all of my thrashing. I finally found the smooth bottle almost up by the pillows. The cap made a little popping noise as I pressed my thumb against it.  
I settled in between Frank’s legs and coated my fingers in lube. I glanced up at his face. He was staring down at me, biting his lip expectantly.  
I wrapped my hand around his dick and started sliding. He was groaning within seconds. I trailed careful kisses along his thigh, sometimes nibbling.  
A few flicks of the wrist, and a twist of the palm and I already had him gasping curses.  
I bit down hard on his inner-thigh and stroked, long and hard. He was already writhing. His head was thrown back against the pillows. His hand gripped my shoulder, nails digging into my skin.  
“ _Fuck,_ Gee.” He moaned.  
I quickly had him cumming all over. I slowed my strokes gradually, watching the cum slide out pump after pump. Frank was a panting wreck.  
I crawled up into the space beside him and pulled him into my arms.  
“Fuck, Gee.” He repeated in a breathy sigh, pressing his lips against mine. We kissed slowly and hungrily for what felt like hours. Our salty, slippery skin slid against each others as we folded tightly around each other. It was like there was just me and just Frank and just this room and nothing else existed.  
“I love you.” I breathed as he was kissing my neck softly. “ _I love you so fucking much._ ”  
He stopped kissing and gazed up at me. I couldn’t read his expression. It was guarded and uncertain.  
“...You don’t have to say it back if you don’t want to. That wasn’t why I said it.” I told him. "  
He nodded solemnly and pressed a row of kisses to my collarbone before resting his cheek against my chest. I pressed one last kiss into his hair before everything went black with heavy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is literally just porn. omg. uh. haha. next chapter will have more substance i suppose. hahahaha. omg. let me know what you think though! i've been writing fanfiction for almost a year and i feel like my smut-writing skills have greatly improved over time. it's unfortunate that it's not something you can put on a traditional resume. hahaha. shit.
> 
> ok. uh. ta ta for now~  
> -m!


	18. Married In My Mind

For the first time in forever Frank didn’t have any nightmares.  
Or, if he did, I didn’t notice.  
I’d been sleeping beside him for so long that I slept very lightly. I was always listening for any signs that Frank felt fearful or was in some state of unease, even when I dreamed. I didn’t detect a single stir from him all through the night.  
  
I woke up when the sun was well into the sky, disoriented after sleeping so many hours in a row. A streak of sunlight slashed across the crumpled bedspread. Frank and I were in the same state as we had been when we fell asleep: tangled up and sweaty. I blinked at Frank’s pale, tattooed flesh, having a hard time believing that the night before had actually even happened. I didn’t know what it meant for us, if anything. Maybe everything would stay the way it already was.  
We had slept close like this plenty of times before my fics got out, but we’d never cuddled up naked. It was nice to lay all tangled up in him, skin to skin.  
Frank groaned and nuzzled his face into my neck, pressing his lips to my skin lazily. I buried my face in his hair and breathed in his scent. I slid my fingers up and down his back slowly.  
“Morning.” I whispered.  
The arm he had slung around my waist tightened, crushing us together in a sleepy hug. His half-hard morningwood pressed against my leg, skin still soft from the lube. He lazily ground his hips against mine and lifted his head up to plant a sloppy kiss on the corner of my mouth.  
“I feel totally disgusting right now.” he croaked. “Shower with me?”  
He bit his lip as he gazed at me hungrily, hair swooping in every direction, face still dreamy. How the fuck could anyone say ‘no’ to that?  
I nodded, running my tongue over my lower lip. He hummed and shot me a devilish smirk before pressing his lips against mine. He groaned as I pulled him on top of me. Our bodies fit so perfectly together. The slide of his hard-on against mine had me moaning involuntarily into his mouth.  
He suddenly slid off of me and pulled the covers off.  
“C’mon.” He said impatiently, crawling off the bed. I could hear his faint footsteps against the hardwood floors as he walked down the hall. I slid off the bed, feeling goosebumps spread over my skin.  
He was already adjusting the temperature of the water by the time I’d gotten into the bathroom. The room was filling with hot steam. He turned to look at me, eyes raking over my pale, naked form. I pursed my lips and blushed, staring down at the floor.  
“What’s wrong?” He asked, stepping towards me, wrapping an arm around my waist and kissing my shoulder.  
“Nothing. I-” I paused, not really knowing how to explain myself. I glanced in the mirror, eyeing the lovebites littering my upper body.  
“You’re totally beautiful. You know that, right?” He said against my ear.  
I shook my head. He reached up and tilted my chin towards him to kiss me softly. He smiled against my lips.  
“Get in. You’re shivering.” He said softly, pulling me by the hand.  
I stepped under the spray, it was just a slight bit warmer than I would have preferred, but not unbearable. Frank stepped in after me and pressed himself against me. We kissed lazily under the warm water. We exchanged sleepy handjobs and held each other close until the water ran cold.  
  
After wrapping up in towels we ended up spooning on the couch under a blanket and watching cartoons. Frank pressed soft kisses to my neck. His fingers gently ghosted up and down my side, almost tickling but not quite.  
“I wish I could take you out on a real date.” He said softly, sliding his arm around my middle and holding me tighter against him.  
“Yeah.” I sighed, staring vacantly at the TV screen. “Me too.”  
“We’re so busy hiding this from everyone that we won’t ever get to do the normal dating stuff. It fucking sucks. I can’t take you out to a horror movie double feature and make out with you in the back the whole time…”  
I couldn’t help but smile at the idea. At the same time I felt an overwhelming pang of sorrow in my chest. Frank meant he wanted us to be together for real. The good _and_ the bad. He wanted it all.  
“And there’s no one I can talk to about it but you because we have to keep it a secret. So it’s like, I have to figure out my feelings all on my own in this fucking vacuum and then on top of that I have to pretend it’s not happening. It’s fucking miserable.” He sighed.  
“Yeah.” I croaked, feeling my eyes start to sting with tears.  
“And it’s like…. _I love you._ God, I love you so fucking much.” He paused to kiss my cheek. I felt a tear escape my eyelid. I held my breath to keep the impending sobs back. “We’ve always been close. But how do I know if I’m _**in**_ love with you? How do I know I’m not just getting ahead of myself because you told the whole fucking world you wanted to marry me?” He hugged me tighter.  
 _“Frank.”_ I sobbed, sliding my hand along the arm he had wrapped around me. He nuzzled his face into the crook of my neck.  
“We could figure it all out, y'know?” He continued, lips brushing against my skin. “We could get a place together and pretend we're just roommates or something… But I don’t want to have to pretend about any of it. It’s not right.”  
I bit down hard on my lip, letting tears spill down my face. I was vaguely aware of the cartoon on the TV screen. _Courage the Cowardly Dog_ , it looked like.  
“I want to hold your hand when we’re out together. I don’t want to have to meet you in secret all the time.”  
I tried to get a shaky breath in and out. If I could just breathe I could stop crying.  
This wasn’t a happy conversation. Frank sounded _devastatingly_ sad.  
“If I can’t have you… and I mean really _have you_. All of you. Then I don’t want you.”  
 _“Frank, shut up. You don’t mean that.”_ I gasped. I twisted in his arms, rolling over to face him. He had tears in his bloodshot eyes as well. His hair was still dripping wet from the shower.  
“If we have to pretend this isn’t happening… our feelings will just continue to get caught in the crossfire.”  
“We’re not even together and it sounds like you’re breaking up with me.” I whispered, laughing in spite of myself.  
“Gerard, listen to me.” He said, swallowing hard and brushing his fingers against my jaw. “You wrote something in one of your stories that I need you to remember right now… you wrote that when I smile at you there’s a brief second where you can pretend that we’re together. That me and you are already married in your mind. And that that’s enough for you.” He paused to hold back a sob. “Marriage is kind of a stretch but I… we’re already together in my mind, too.”  
I closed my eyes when the sight before me had finally become too much. I couldn’t bear to see the boy I was hopelessly in love with looking back at me with such sad eyes.  
“But the defining difference between you and I is that it’s not enough for me...”  
“Frank, _stop it._ ” I begged.  
“I want you to keep coming over every night.” He said softly, a grim smile playing on his lips. “I want to fuck you in my shower and burn all your meals. I want you to be the first thing I see when I wake up from my bad dreams… but we can’t do this forever. It’s not healthy. It’s not _sustainable_.”  
  
There was nothing I could say, I realized.  
There was nothing I could _do._  
Frank held me tightly in his arms and we just cried.  
  
I had more tears than I had hope for us. I ran out of hope much quicker than I ran out of tears.  
Though I eventually ran out of tears, too.  
By the time I had to get ready for band practice I didn’t have any hope or any tears left. I was completely emptied out of everything.  
  
I got off the couch, sliding out of Frank’s arms unwillingly. He stayed there, curling in on himself. He looked just as empty as I felt. I willed myself to go to his room and gather my clothes. I got dressed as quickly as I could and grabbed my phone off his bedside table. I walked through the kitchen, to grab my car keys. They were right where I’d left them, beside the box of condoms Frank had bought the day before.  
Just when I thought I was out of tears, I felt my eyes pricking with more. It stung to cry. My head was pounding and my mouth was dry.  
I heard Frank’s shaky breaths somewhere near. I turned and saw him standing in the doorway with his towel wrapped around his waist.  
“I should head over to the studio.” I said solemnly, wiping off my tears on the back of my hand. “Wouldn’t want to show up there at the same time.” I said. I didn’t mean for it to sound angry, but it came out like acid. Frank looked visibly hurt. I walked towards him, glancing at the front door behind him.  
“Will you come over later?” He asked sadly.  
“I don’t know if I should. If we’re ever going to stop…” I trailed off.  
“Yeah… okay…” he sighed, eyes welling up with tears again.  
I nodded and slipped past him, heading for the door.  
“Gerard?” Frank called, as I reached for the handle. I turned to look at him.  
“Yeah, Frank?”  
“About last night…” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “Please _don’t_ … Just don’t think I was using you. I would never use you. I've wanted to be with you, like that, and it came from a place of love…. This morning too. It was beautiful”  
“It _was_.” I agreed, pursing my lips.  
“I would never use you.” he repeated.  
“I know you wouldn’t. We’re uh…” I paused. “Look, maybe in some other universe we got to end up together.”  
He nodded, tears spilling over his eyes.  
“But in this one…” I tapped a finger against my temple. “We’re together in here.”  
I took a few steps toward him and pulled him into my arms. I leaned in and kissed him goodbye. He kissed back passionately, framing my face with his palms. I held him tightly, just taking in the feeling of his lips. It wasn’t as if we’d never see each other again but it might’ve been the last time I’d see him like that. Vulnerable. Conflicted. Full of love and uncertainty.  
  
I left Frank’s apartment after that, heading straight to band practice.  
I know it sounded dramatic but I felt _dead inside._  
Completely vacant and soulless.  
  
I wandered into the practice room, wondering if a century of nights with Bert could even begin to fix the misery I was in. I fucking doubted it. I doubted anything could fix it.  
  
“You look like shit.” Mikey said as I dropped onto the couch.  
“Yeah.” I sighed, not having the strength to even pretend anything was okay.  
“What’s wrong?” He asked, perching on the edge of the couch beside me.  
“Same shit, different day.” I shrugged.  
“So it’s about Frank?”  
I nodded, curling up in on myself.  
  
I stared across the room to where Bob and Ray were laughing about something on Bob’s phone. I heard the door swing open and click shut. I didn’t need to look up to know it was Frank. He walked through my line of vision, confirming my fears.  
“One question…” Mikey said quietly, an inch or so away from my ear.  
I hummed softly.  
“How long have you and Frank been fucking?”  
I snapped my head in Mikey’s direction. He'd asked the question so casually.  
 _“What?”_ I hissed.  
“Look, I don’t care if you guys are trying to keep it on the down-low. But you might wanna... try a little harder?” A smile pulled at his lips.  
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked under my breath, squinting at him.  
“Let me spell it out for you…” Mikey sighed, keeping his voice low. Just then Ray laughed loudly confirming that, thankfully, no one was even paying attention to us. “You showed up 20 minutes apart from each other, both with wet hair. Your neck is covered in hickies, though you haven’t mentioned seeing anyone. _**I**_ certainly haven’t seen you with anyone. And I know _everyone_ , Gee.”  
I stared hard at him, trying so hard not to blow my cover. It wasn’t working.  
“You should’ve worn a scarf maybe? I probably would've just known you were trying to cover up hickies though so… there’s really no good way to have played that.”  
I gaped at him. _  
Cover blown._  
“Lastly, you clearly aren’t mad at each other anymore. Frank’s been in this room for about 30 seconds and you’re already avoiding each others gaze harder than I’ve ever seen. You guys are just trying to make sure no one catches you looking at each other, I’m guessing? That’s not fooling anyone. Well, maybe Bob and... Brian also, if he were here. And Ray’s distracted by his phone right now so...”  
 _“Fuck.”_ I gasped. “How do you even-”  
“Lots of casual hookups…” MIkey shrugged. “Hiding it is a like a form of performance art. I know what to look for.”  
“Frank looks just as miserable as you do, if that’s any consolation. Did you guys fight or something?” He asked softly, pulling me in for a hug.  
“We kind of just… broke up I guess.” I mumbled, swallowing hard.  
“That bad, huh?” M whispered.  
I nodded, tears pricking at my eyes. These tears felt more manageable. In such close proximity to my brother it felt like I could fight off the sobbing fit that was curling in my lungs, begging to be let out.  
“Well, sorry to be an asshole, but that's what brothers are for. So I really gotta ask…” Mikey said, pressing his lips against my hair in an attempt to be comforting. “How long have you guys been.. _y’know?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i make this little joke to myself on Fridays: i say TGIF all day but what I MEAN is "Thank God It's Frerard~" Everyone's like "ya, lol, TGIF for real!" and i'm like 'u don't even realize u are fueling my fictional gay sex fire rn...." w/ a smirk.
> 
> NGL, actually cried a lil while writing this  
> sorry i made them break up. sort of. not really.  
> this story has been an emotional rollercoaster. real sorry abt yr feels n all.  
> someone told me i'm not overdoing it w/ the back-and-forth love/hate shit. but i'm a little worried i've overdone it this time. please let me knowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww if i have.
> 
> don't fret. i'm always a sucker for happy endings so  
> TGIF  
> -m


	19. To Die By Your Side/Dead-Wrong

“Me and Gerard are gonna take 5!” Mikey called out to the rest of the band, waving a pack of cigarettes.  
I followed M out of the practice room, down a flights of stairs and out into the back parking lot. I found a good spot to lean against the building, and lit a cigarette. I puffed in hard in desperate need of a nicotine fix.  
Mikey was staring at me with a curious, expectant expression. An unlit cigarette dangled in between his fingers.  
“So?” Mikey pressed.  
“We haven’t actually like… we’ve just been fooling around not actually… like, fucking.” I shrugged.  
“Gross. I don’t want details dude.” He said, scrunching his face up.  
“You’re the one who wanted to know so bad.” I grumbled.  
“I just wanted to know how long...” M sighed.  
“Maybe.. 3 weeks? Since I relapsed basically.” I mused, puffing my cigarette. “I mean, things only got… we only started to be like… y’know _intimate_ or whatever in the last couple of days.” I shrugged, trying to keep the word choice PG.  
“You guys have been seeing each other this whole time!?” He practically shouted, eyes widening. Well, it wasn’t very loud, but for Mikey it was.  
“Keep your voice down.” I hissed. “But yes. Sort of. It’s really, really complicated.” I sighed dramatically.  
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” He asked, obvious dejection in his voice.  
“I’m sorry I just… The first time it happened I had a hard time believing it was even real so I lied. And then… it was just easier to lie about it. Are you like, mad at me? ...For not telling you?” I asked.  
“Getting mad at you isn’t going to solve anything.” Mikey shrugged, blinking rapidly and pushing his glasses up his nose like he did when he was frustrated. “But I’m definitely seeing a pattern here, Gerard. I don’t get why you won’t just trust me with shit like this? I’m not gonna judge you and you know that…”  
He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up and then training the locks into a sweeping frame around his face. “It just feels like before you got clean… You’re not telling me shit anymore.” There was a heavy look in his eyes. “I thought we told each other everything.”  
I gulped, feeling guilty for all the secrets, but not wanting to tell him about the other secrets. Like, Bert and or _Bert's pills._  
“You don’t have to tell me everything now” He continued. I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “This isn’t an interrogation. I’m just worried.”  
“I’m sorry.” I mumbled.  
“So you and Frank broke up? Like last night?” He asked.  
“This morning.” I sighed.  
“Oh so you guys were like… _oh._ ” He whispered, finally lighting his cigarette.  
“Yeah.” I breathed, feeling tears prick at my eyes.  
“Shoulda figured with the wet hair an all… Oh my god. I can’t believe- You guys were like, _a thing.”_  
“Yeah.” I repeated, chewing my lip.  
“Holy fuck! Gerard, are you _okay?_ ” He asked.  
“I don’t know. Yes but no. Depends.” I said honestly, voice wavering involuntarily. I felt a tear spill over. “I’ll be fine eventually.”  
“So who dumped who?” He asked.  
I gawked at him. The pathetic hopelessness in my chest was back. This was definitely gonna take way more than 5 minutes. I could feel myself getting worked up and the rest of the band would be looking for us soon. I puffed hard on my cigarette.  
“I guess he dumped me. Not the other way around.” I whimpered. “We didn’t really break up cause we weren’t exactly together. But we’re definitely not going to be seeing each other anymore...”  
I took a deep breath, trying to hold back a sob.  
“Can we talk about this later though? I’m kind of a wreck right now.” I choked.  
Mikey pulled me into his arms and hugged me tightly. “Of course. If you’ll _actually fucking talk to me_ about it.” he mumbled against my hair. I could hear the hurt in his voice.  
“Yeah.” I sighed. “I will, M. I swear.”  
What a perfect fucking day. I’d been dumped by someone who was never even mine to begin with and my brother thought I didn’t trust him anymore.  
 _At least it couldn’t get worse,_ I told myself.  
  
We finished our cigarettes in comfortable silence and went back inside.  
I continued to try and keep my eyes off of Frank which was harder than it should’ve been. He kept floating around the room, no space was safe to stare off into. I’d close my eyes and take some deep breaths to try and cleanse my thoughts of the anxious, helpless feelings that kept building up. Then every time I’d open my eyes Frank and his stupid, beautiful face would be right in my line of sight.  
He didn’t look sad or happy. He just looked blank.  
That was probably why the record label had put that clause in our contract… I would’ve happily abandoned my band if it meant I didn’t have to watch the person I loved go about their day acting like they were just fine without me.  
I couldn’t have been happier when practice was finally over.  
  
After practice I had some time to kill until Mikey came by to pick me up for this sceney party Brian had asked us all to make an appearance at. Some record label was thinking about signing some band and so everyone was going to some venue for drinks and networking. That was as much as my misery-clouded brain could gather. I didn’t care who was going to be there. The only person I didn’t want to see was Frank and he would definitely be there.  
After that I was working some after party for an art opening with Bert and some of his friends from the art world.  
  
After getting dressed up for the party (in all black, naturally) I sat on my couch and tried to zone out on cartoons. The cartoons just made me think about Frank and what he’d said.  
I couldn’t change his mind but I could certainly change the channel. I flipped to some action movie, reasoning that explosions had nothing to do with Frank so the movie wouldn’t trigger any thoughts of him.  
But then I was just thinking about not thinking about Frank.  
I couldn’t get Frank’s stupid, perfect lips out of my head. And the way he’d said he loved me was burned into my brain and playing on repeat. And all that shit about how he wanted to be together and go out on real dates...  
I was so confused and hurt. I couldn’t believe he’d changed his mind after everything he’d said the night before. After what we’d _done._  
Sneaking around wasn’t a solution. I could accept that Frank was right about that.  
But the way things had gone at band practice wasn’t a solution either. I would have a complete and total meltdown if I had to see Frank like this everyday.  
I stared at my phone screen and drafted a text. I didn’t want to talk to Frank. That was a lie. Frank was the only person I wanted to talk to. Either way he deserved to know that Mikey knew about us.  
  
 _“Mikey knows. Please don’t be mad. I didn’t tell him. He found out on his own.”_  
  
I bit my lip hard and pressed send. I cursed under my breath for sending the text message in perfect grammar and spelling. It made it too obvious that I had typed it out 20 times, revising carefully and making a point of not saying too much or taking an emotional standing on the matter.  
He didn’t reply but I knew he’d read it eventually.  
He always read my texts. He’d said so once before.  
  
On the car ride over to the party I told Mikey about our entire relationship. The nightmares, the handjobs, the appointments I drove him to, the conversations we’d had, the conversations we’d avoided having. Mikey stayed respectful and reassuring throughout our whole talk, not judging me for the way I’d handled things.  
“I’m just so proud of you for staying clean through all of this, Gee.” he said, squinting and staring out the back of his car as he tried to parallel park in a spot close to the party. His tongue caught between his teeth in concentration like it always did when he parked in a tight spot.  
“It’s not that big of a deal.” I sighed, unbuckling my seatbelt and slipping out the passenger door.  
“It is though!.” he called over the top of the car. “I couldn’t fucking keep it together like you have.”  
Icy brown leaves crunched under our feet as we walked towards the venue. Usually when I told someone everything there was to tell, I’d feel better because I’d let it all out.  
Instead of feeling any kind of relief, I was just tired on top of the despair I already felt.  
  
I ordered a diet coke from the bar, hoping the caffeine would pick me up. I took a sip, letting the fizzy sensation flood my mouth. I could almost pretend it was beer if I focused on the carbonation instead of the flavor. I immediately spotted the back of Frank’s head in a crowd of people and moved towards the opposite end of the party, pulling Mikey by the arm.  
“I didn’t know there’d be karaoke here! Can we?” Mikey asked excitedly against my ear so that I could hear him over the music. He pointed towards two people twirling around on a small stage with microphones in their hands. It certainly explained the slightly off-key singing coming through the PA system.  
“Sign us up.” I smiled.  
“Can we do The Smiths!?” He yelled.  
I nodded.  
He practically skipped through the crowd towards the sign-up sheet. I quickly lost his mop of perfectly messy hair in the dimly lit sea of strangers.  
  
 _“Damn, Gee.”_ a familiar voice said.  
I spun around to acknowledge the sinister figure I sensed behind me.  
 _Bert, naturally._  
He’d touched up his dye job since I’d last seen him. His shock of black hair contrasted vividly his white suit jacket.  
“Bert.”  
“How are you, my darling?” He asked with a smirk, sliding his arm through mine.  
“Shitty.” I replied without thinking. He pulled me into a corner of the room where the sound of karaoke music was less overwhelming.  
“Oh what’d Frankie do now?” He cooed.  
“It’s not about-” I started, then shook my head. “We kinda broke up.” I squeezed a dent into my soda can absentmindedly.  
“Broke up, huh? I thought you guys weren’t like, _a thing_?”  
“We weren’t. But now we’re _really_ not.” I explained.  
“I think I understand.” He smiled. “I’m so sorry. I know you really liked him.”  
He pulled me in for a hug. I relaxed against him and took a deep breath. He smelled like cigarettes and booze and some type of cologne that was earthy and sweet.  
“So… does that mean we’ll have more time together then?” Bert asked.  
I nodded, smiling weakly.  
“See? It’s not all bad.” He said, sliding my hair out of my face. The backs of his fingers brushed against my cheek.  
“Yeah. You’re right.” I sighed. “Thanks… I think I needed to hear someone say that.”  
“Listen, I gotta go make some rounds. But if I don’t see you around here again I’ll see you at that after party. We can talk more then, ‘kay?”  
“I’ll text you.” I agreed.  
“Take care of yourself tonight, alright? Things’ll get easier, I promise.” He said, pecking me on the cheek, and then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd.  
I realized that I hadn’t even bothered to ask Bert how Bert was doing. It was sweet of him to be so protective and caring of me, but I suddenly felt like a shitty fucking friend. It was always about me or me and Frank. I didn’t want it to be like that anymore. I didn’t want to be defined by my feelings for Frank.  
I felt a blip of anxiety as I thought about My Chem’s fanbase. I’d stayed off all social media ever since things blew up with my fanfictions. If I wanted people to think of me for anything else I’d have to start _being_ something else.  
I pulled out my phone and opened twitter. I cringed at all the notifications… all mentions in tweets proclaiming that everyone knew and had always known that “Frerard is real.”  
 _“Just kill me.”_ I whispered, scrolling through my feed.  
I opened a draft. I hadn’t posted anything to twitter in over 3 weeks. It was intimidating to try to think of what to say. I was completely prepared to act like nothing had happened but that didn’t mean I knew where to start.  
“Gerard and Mikey Way, please come to the stage!” a woman’s voice announced over the PA system.  
I waded through the crowd towards the karaoke machine. I was still thinking about what to tweet and how fucking stupid twitter was anyways when someone handed me a microphone.  
I looked around and realized Mikey wasn’t anywhere near. Of course, the opening measures to “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out” by The Smiths, one of Mikey’s all-time favorite songs, started playing without him.  
“ _Take me out tonight.”_ I sang into the mic, glancing over at the lyrics changing colors on the TV screen. I knew the words by heart but it was easier than staring at all the strangers talking and laughing in little groups all throughout the room.  
I slipped into that zoned out state I always fell into when I sang, not even really thinking about what I was doing anymore, just feeling it. My skull buzzed with the happy familiarity of the words.  
“ _And if a double-decker bus crashes into us-”_  
I noticed Frank was standing in the crowd somewhere, watching me. He knocked back the rest of whatever he was drinking.  
 _“To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.”_  
I stared right back at him as I sang those words. He wiped the back of his hand against his cheeks. It sort of looked like he was wiping away tears, but I couldn’t be sure in the dim of the room.  
“ _And if a ten ton truck crashes into us, to die by your side- well the pleasure and the privilege is mine.”_  
Scratch that. Frank was totally crying like a lovesick idiot.  
It was so sweet and sappy and pathetic. I wanted to drop the mic and run over to him and kiss him in front of everyone. Fuck the rules. Fuck the band. But if I wanted to ever be known for anything other than loving Frank Iero, I’d stay right where I was and finish the song.  
So that was exactly what I did.  
“There is a light and it never goes out.” I finished, flashing Frank a small, sad smile. He wasn’t even standing where he’d been standing so I had no way of knowing if he’d seen it and knew it was meant for him. I handed off the mic and stepped out of the lights. Where the fuck was Mikey when you needed him?  
I waded through the partygoers, avoiding where I’d last seen Frank standing. I stepped out into the cold night and pulled out my cigarettes. There was no one else outside of the club. It was almost too windy to smoke - that was probably why. I leaned against the exterior wall of the building and cupped my hand around my cigarette to light it away from the wind.  
  
I texted Mikey to tell him I couldn’t be around Frank and that I needed to leave. After that I called Bert and told him I was heading to the other party early and that I was walking. It was 40 degrees and the second party was a good 2 or 3 miles but I had a thick coat on and I needed to clear my head. I pulled my hood up and and adjusted my scarf to cover the lower half of my face.  
  
My head was far from clear by the time I made it to the after party. I ended up getting to the place about the same time as Bert. He shot me a reassuring smile as we went inside, arm in arm.  
We’d worked it out that I would hang out in the hallway by the bathroom. Bert and this other guy that Bert hadn’t bothered to introduce me to would go around the party and direct people to me, texting me to let me know what they wanted and how much money they were supposed to hand me. I’d “just sit and look pretty” (as Bert had put it) and handle the actual transactional portion of the process.  
I’d found a cozy chair at the end of the hallway. It was a great vantage point for staring at all the fucked up party-goers in their shimmery outfits. My stare was caught by a girl with blue-green hair. I wondered if I could pull off those colors. She made it look so easy.  
At that point I started chain smoking, flicking the ashes into a drink someone had handed me so I wouldn’t be tempted to gulp it down.  
When customers came to me I’d pull them into the bathroom to exchange the pills for cash like some kind of dysfunctional alchemist, turning feelings into wealth. I made a point to never look at their faces, worried I wouldn’t like what I’d see.  
  
I slumped back into the cozy chair, suddenly desperate for a cup of coffee. Someone had slung their coat over the back of the chair while I was in bathroom with that guy with the low voice.  
I went back to scrolling through my old tweets, trying desperately to remember who the fuck I had been before all this shit with Frank. I found myself grinning at the stupid shit I used to say. I couldn’t explain why I felt like I was a completely different person now. There were the obvious things, like the blip in my sobriety, but there was something else about me that was different in this sinister, irreversible sort of way.  
I wanted to go back to being the person I was before all this and I didn’t know how. I felt immensely stupid that twitter was what lead me to thinking about it. My grandmother, when she was alive, was always saying that inspiration came from the strangest places and that I shouldn’t question it. So I didn’t. Even about the stupidest, littlest things.  
  
A text flashed across my screen from Bert’s friend (who I’d literally entered as a contact in my phone as ‘Bert’s Friend’). It said “ _pretty goth boy headed towards u. 10 pills/$120”_  
I closed the text and lit another cigarette, feeling the bag of pills as I tucked my pack back into my pocket.  
“Gerard?” someone called out.  
“Please don’t call me that here.” I said, flicking ash into my drink.  
Whoever was standing in front of me didn’t say anything back, so I dared a glance upward...  
  
...not expecting to see _Frank_ glaring back at me.  
If I’d thought things couldn’t have gotten any worse before, I was dead-wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. so that shit with the karaoke was hella cheesy and i know that and i'm sorry. i just really wanted Frank crying over Gerard singing a song that was emotionally relevant to their predicament. i needed that in my life. ~*~*~*~*
> 
> is this fic doing okay? do you think it's gone downhill?  
> it's about to get more dramatic. idk how that's even possible, but it is.
> 
> please let me know what you think. -m


	20. Last Nail In The Coffin

“What am I supposed to call you then, huh? What the fuck is going on here?” Frank asked. His voice didn’t waver which meant that he was _really, really, **really**_ pissed. I’d only seen him look this mad once before when Bob dropped his favorite guitar and damaged the mechanics for the pickups.  
“Hi Frank.” I squeaked, smiling like a fucking idiot.  
 _So much for keeping my cool._  
“Here… uh… follow me.” I said under my breath, glancing around to make sure no one was watching and practically dragging Frank into the bathroom with me.  
“Do I even wanna know?” he asked softly, once I’d locked the door behind me. He crossed his arms and gave me this look like he was an angry parent talking to an unruly teenager.  
“Probably not.” I mumbled, glancing around the room at everything except Frank.  
“Are you doing this to get back at me or something?”  
“No.” I said softly.  
“Cause if you are that’s… that’s **so** not fucking cool.” he spat.  
“I’m not.” I insisted. “I swear.”  
“Like…. _not fucking okay._ ”  
“Not everything is about you.” I said coldly. “Sorry if that’s hard to believe.”  
I finally stole a glance at his face. My heart jumped at the amount of anger and confusion I saw.  
 _“What the fuck, Gerard?”_  
“ **What** , Frank?”  
“ _You’re fucking selling drugs?_ ” He hissed.  
“It’s complicated.” I shrugged.  
“Are you _on_ drugs?” He asked. I could hear worry in his voice. He took a step towards me and I flinched back against the door. For whatever reason I was expecting him to hit me. Instead his brushed his fingers along my jaw. I fought the urge to lean into his touch, sliding along the wall, away from him.  
“Why are you interrogating me?” I asked.  
“Just answer the question.” He said sternly.  
“I’m not on drugs, okay? Chill the fuck out.”  
“Don’t fucking tell me to chill out.” He warned softly, angrily.  
  
We stood there in silence for a moment. The white noise of the party soundtracked the unbearable tension in the air around us in the tiny, well-lit bathroom.  
  
“Do you need money? Is that why you’re doing this?” Frank asked.  
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him. He just didn’t _get it._  
“Bert put you up to this didn’t he? We can get you out of this. I’ll get you out of this-”  
“Frank, shut up.” I snapped. “No one put me up to this. It’s just… something I do… It’s just a way for me to escape like anything else.”  
“Escape from _what?_ ” he asked, swallowing hard. He was starting to freak out.  
“From _this._ From how much I’ve fucked up the things between us.” I shrugged, motioning between the two of us. “It just seemed like the only thing I could go out and do where you wouldn’t follow me. Cause you hate Bert.”  
“This is about me, then.” he said solemnly  
“Sort of. In an indirect way I guess...”  
  
There was another unbearable pause.  
  
“What the fuck was I supposed to have done differently?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. “I thought… if you had me then this wouldn’t happen. You’d stay clean. Am I not enough?”  
“Frank…” I breathed. “Don’t make this about you. I told you it’s not about you. I’m the one who’s fucking up. You can’t blame yourself.”  
He took a slow deep breath, chewing his lip fretfully.  
“Anyways, I don’t have you. I never will.” I said, admitting it to myself for the first time. He looked so sad I wanted to grab him and kiss him until he couldn’t feel anything. Until neither of us could feel anything.  
“Don’t say that.” He whispered, “There’s no way for you to know-”  
“Frank, stop.” I interrupted. “Stop pretending things are gonna work out for us.”  
“Even if…” He swallowed, shaking his head, “Gerard this is still so fucking stupid. And _dangerous_ … you could relapse again. You could get arrested. This has to stop.”  
I actually laughed then.  
“ _Don’t laugh._ I’m being fucking serious here. This is stupid.” He scorned.  
“Frank, you’re lecturing me on not selling drugs when you were about to buy drugs from me. You realize how fucking hypocritical that is, right?”  
He sort of just gaped at me then.  
“Just… everything’s fine. Calm down.” I sighed.  
If I said it out loud enough, maybe it would start to be true.  
“ _This is not fine_ , Gerard. Quit being delusional.”  
“Stop pretending like you care.” I countered. I didn’t mean to say it. It just kind of came out.  
It caught him off guard, I think, because after that he snapped.  
“Are you fucking listening to yourself right now, Gerard!?” He yelled. “If you honestly believe I don’t care I’m more than happy to fucking show you what that looks like.”  
Before I could say anything he pushed past me and slipped out of the room, slamming the door behind him.  
  
I stood in the bathroom for few minutes trying to convince myself this was fine. I tried to tell myself there wasn’t a better way to have handled the situation.  
Me and Frank were over. We didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t up to us. It never had been.  
All I’d done was hammer the last nail in the coffin.  
  
I slipped out of the bathroom and was immediately met with the eyes of an angry partygirl. She shoulder-checked me as she slipped past me, slamming the bathroom door shut behind her.  
Perhaps the only bathroom on the first floor of a raging party wasn’t my best choice for working through our breakup.  
  
There was a moment where I considered trying to chase after Frank. He couldn’t have gone far. I could text him. Even if he wouldn’t tell me where he’d gone he’d read whatever I wrote.  
I wandered through the crowded dancefloor, through the kitchen, ending up on the sidewalk in front of the house. I looked up and down the street but couldn’t see my angry ex-quasi-boyfriend anywhere.  
~  
  
Frank didn’t show up for band practice the next day.  
Or the day after.  
Or the day after.  
No one could reach him. He’d turned his phone off after the second day.  
I tried to pretend I wasn’t fucking panicking. But I was.  
Nail biting.  
Fuzzy, raising thoughts.  
I couldn’t focus on anything.  
  
“Gerard… would you please just go get Frank? He’s probably fucking waiting for you at his apartment like a fucking girl.”  
I looked up and Bob was staring back at me.  
“Seriously, you’re fucking useless today.” Bob continued. “Just go get your boyfriend so we can get back to the music.”  
“He’s not my-”  
“Save it.” Ray cut in. “Just go get Frank. _Please._ ”  
“You mean… you- you guys know?” I stammered.  
Ray nodded.  
“You guys are about as subtle as a turd in a punch bowl.” Bob shrugged. “It was cute for the first 5 minutes but you really need to wrap this up...”  
I glanced over at Mikey who was just staring off into space with a guilty expression.  
“You told them, didn’t you?” I asked softly.  
“They figured it out on their own.” Mikey said, still not looking at me. He must’ve had something to do with them ‘figuring it out’ judging by the look on his face.  
“Wait… you guys are cool with it?” I asked.  
“Always were, dude…. It’s a little weird, I guess? I don’t wanna like, watch you guys suck face or whatever.” Ray grimaced, “But yeah… wouldn’t ever stand in between two people in love.”  
  
I just stood there, too weirded out by idea that Bob and Ray knew the whole time and didn’t care.  
  
“We know there’s the whole thing with the label but… we can totally cover for you.” Bob added. “But look, I had to hang out with the shitty relatives on my mom’s side of the family this weekend. I got some shit I wanted to work out on this here drumset.” He tapped the snare with his drumstick. “I can’t **do that** if you guys are being all weird so let’s worry about the details later. _Go. Get. Frank._ ”  
“Ahm… okay? I’ll- I’ll try. He’s pretty mad at me ‘cause I-”  
“We don’t care.” Ray interrupted, putting his hands up to silence me. “ _For the love of God, just go get him!_ ”  
“Okay. I’ll… I’ll do that.” I said, backing towards the door.  
I practically ran down the hall and out the door towards my car. I didn’t even bother to text Frank before driving for his house. The worst case scenario would be that he wasn’t at home.  
  
I practically scraped the side of my car off in a rush to park outside of his apartment building. I pressed the button for his apartment. He buzzed me in without even turning on the intercom to ask who it was. I took the stairs up to his floor, two at a time.  
I started to get anxious as I meandered down the hall towards his apartment. He would still be mad about the drugs. I would stop if it meant we could be together. I was probably going to stop with the drugs either way. I’d never hang around Bert again if that was what Frank wanted.  
I slowed my pace as the door to his apartment came into view at the end of the hall. I hadn’t thought about what I was going to say.  
Maybe Frank didn’t even want to hear what I had to say.  
  
I had to try, right? If not for us, for the band.  
  
I hesitated for a moment before knocking on his door hard and firm.  
It swung open.  
“Oh! Hey Gerard! Thought you were the pizza guy.” Jamia said warmly.  
I glanced down, noticing she wasn’t wearing pants. There was an awkward pause as my brain put together why Jamia would be answering Frank’s door in her underwear.  
“Um. Do you normally answer the door for delivery guys in your underwear?” I asked. I didn’t even really process what I’dt asked until it had already fallen out of her mouth. Maybe that was a rude thing to ask.  
“No. Not usually.” She laughed. “I guess I didn’t think about it. Me and Frank were just-”  
“I uh… I gotta go.” I interrupted, swallowing hard.  
“Are you sure? You just got here?” She said, furrowing her brow and cocking her head to the side, “Frank’s in the shower right now but the pizza guy should be here any minute. Frank’s just helping me-”  
“No. I uh…. Tell him I’ll call him, okay? And just… sorry for interrupting.” I mumbled, quickly turning and walking away without looking back.  
“Suit yourself!” She called after me. “We got supreme pizza with extra olives. You’re missing out, loser!”  
  
 _Extra olives sounded fucking great.  
Maybe I could choke myself to death with them?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gotta love those misunderstandings. hahahahaha. oh dear.
> 
> -m


	21. You Don't Get A Prize For Being An Asshole, Sorry

I’m so fucking sorry you have to see me like this.” I sobbed into the fabric of Bert’s sweatshirt. “I feel like I’m always coming to you with my stupid problems. I’m such a shitty friend.”  
“Shut up, Gee.” Bert said, hugging me tighter. “You’re just going through some rough shit. You’d do the same for me. I know you would.”  
I lifted my head and blinked away the tears. Bert’s bedroom was just a mess of colorful, watery blurs.  
“Maybe you’ve got it all wrong, Gee. Are you sure you don’t want to call him?”  
“I don’t want to talk to him. I’m just… so fucking done.” I whispered.  
“I think you should talk to him.” Bert nodded. “Or like… here let me see your phone.”  
He reached into my jacket pocket and felt around for my phone. He pulled it out before I could stop him.  
“Bert. Don’t.” I warned.  
“Don’t worry I’m not gonna _call_ him.” Bert chuckled.  
I bit my lip nervously as I watched him scroll through my phone. I’d been unable to stomach looking at it since I’d texted Mikey that I was with Bert and that he shouldn’t look for me.  
“See look. He’s texted you like a thousand times.” Bert said. “Want me to read em to you?”  
“No…” I breathed. “Or ahm, okay.”  
“You sure?” He asked skeptically.  
I nodded weakly, biting my lip.  
“Okay let’s see uhhhh… _'Gerard pick up you’re fucking phone._ '” Bert read. “Next one says, _‘Gerard I need to talk to you. I’m not doing this over text.’_ ”  
Bert glanced up at me for approval to keep reading.  
“ _'Gerard don’t fucking do this.'_ ” Bert continued. “ _'Gerard where the fuck are you?'_ ”  
“ _Stop.”_ I groaned. If he was wondering where I was had he stopped by my apartment looking for me? We showed up at each other's apartments all the time, after all. That's what had lead to me sobbing in Bert's arms in the first place.  
But it wasn't my fault he'd already gotten back together with his ex. What would've happened if I _hadn't_ showed up? How long would Frank have strung me along?  
We weren't together, not exactly. Even still, he hadn't mentioned even _speaking_ to Jamia again.  
“The kid wants to talk to you, Gee.” Bert said, petting my hair and sliding my phone back in my pocket.  
“What’s the point?” I mumbled.  
“Closure? If nothing else you need some closure on this.” Bert pointed out.  
“There won’t be any closure. Not if My Chem stays together.” I sighed.  
“Are you sure you don’t want me to find you another guitarist? I know some guys who shred harder than Frankie. We could set up auditions and-”  
“No.” I said firmly. “Maybe… Maybe if Frank leaves we can _talk_ about it. But Frank is still in the band. We’re still in a band _together._ I would have to run it by the guys first anyways.”  
“I get it. Just don’t forget your pal Bert’s got the hookups.” He smirked.  
  
We laid there for awhile in comfortable silence, Bert’s stereo soundtracking the lack of conversation.  
After a while Bert’s phone rang.  
“I don’t uh… recognize the number. Might be someone looking to pick up?” He said, accepting the call.  
“Hello?” He asked, eyes darting around thoughtfully.  
“ _Frank,_ ” he said with fake fondness, “To what do I owe such a pleasure?”  
I could faintly hear bits of Frank’s panicked voice on the other end. “ _Mikey said… Just tell me he’s…_ ”  
I leaned forward so that I could hear Frank better but Bert pushed me back against the mattress, smirking playfully. He rolled off the bed and shot me this look that said, “ _Try me, punk._ ”  
Bert didn't want me dictating how the conversation went. I was almost mad at him. But Frank hadn't called me, he'd called Bert.  
“Gerard’s _fine_. He’s _safe with me_ …” Bert assured. “I haven’t let him take anything! Not a single goddamn pill! Chill out!”  
He paused, allowing Frank to yell for a moment.  
“No offense dude,” Bert chuckled, smiling at me, “But I think you might be the last person he wants to fucking talk to right now.”  
He paused again as Frank said something else. I wondered where Frank was, what he was doing, if Jamia was still at his apartment. Maybe they were eating pizza in their underwear and holding hands and- I held my breath and tried to shut it out.  
I could be sad about Frank but I knew it was wrong to torture myself with thoughts like that.  
“Is there a message you want me to relay to him?” Bert asked.  
He bit his lip as he listened.  
“ _Well shit dude!_ ” Bert snorted. “I mean, I think maybe that’s something you should tell Gerard yourself.”  
Bert laughed.  
“No. I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I’m not gonna let you talk to him.” He said, humor evaporating quickly from his voice. "He doesn't _want_ to talk to you or he would've called you himself."  
He shifted his weight and scratched at a dried, crusty spot on his sweatshirt. I made a note to make Bert do his laundry later.  
“Ok… I’ll bite. Let’s just say you didn’t fuck her. What was she doing at your place?”  
Bert put his hand over the receiver and looked at me.  
“I’m gonna take this into the hall. I don’t want to upset you.” Bert whispered before slipping out the door.  
“Well that’s an incredibly rude thing to say!” Bert yelled into the phone, muffled by the closed door between us.  
Bert was playing a game with Frank. I could tell because he hadn’t called him any names and he hadn’t made any threats.  
I glanced around the room, vision finally clear after hours of crying. I spotted a bottle of pills on Bert’s nightstand. I picked it up and read the label. Pain killers. Good ones, too.  
I could slip a few in my mouth. Bert wasn’t in the room, he wouldn’t even notice. I rolled the bottle in my hands, listening to the pills clink over each other.  
“Look, dude, you don’t get a prize for being a fucking asshole, sorry!” Bert shouted. I listened as Bert’s door creaked open.  
“Goddammit… you sure can pick em, Gee.” Bert muttered. “ **....Gee?** ”  
I looked up, he was staring at the bottle in my hand with a concerned look. He dived onto the bed and swatted the bottle out of my hand. It hit the carpet with a soft tap, the pills clinked violently against the inside of the plastic container as they bounced away.  
“You didn’t fucking take any of those did you?” Bert asked softly. Before I could answer he was sticking his fingers in my mouth, feeling around my gums for any traces of a pill tucked under my tongue.  
“ **Buh Sah!** ” I groaned, pulling at his wrist. _Bert, Stop!_  
I bit down on his fingers just a little in attempt to get him to stop.  
“ _Fuck, Gee._ ” He hissed.  
“I didn’t take any of them. Count ‘em if you don’t believe me.” I said cooly, voice hoarse from the struggle.  
“You think I can keep count of shit like that, Gee?” Bert laughed darkly, “Fuck.”  
Bert pulled me into a hug.  
“Princess, I need you to listen and listen good for just a second, okay?” He said firmly, against my ear. “I’m all for you returning to the dark side... I’ve _missed_ how we used to be.”  
“Bert, I-”  
“No, just _listen!_ I’m all for you getting back into this stuff. You _know_ I am. But you shouldn’t make decisions like that when you’re mad.” He scorned. "I'm not letting you. Not when you're so upset."  
“I’m not-”  
“You are, Gee. Frank hurt you. Based on what that asshole just told me I don’t think he and Jamia got back together... but either way he still hurt you! I know it’s not my place to speak on it but I don’t think your relationship with Frank is a good idea anymore… You’re so vulnerable right now.”  
“But-”  
“SHHHHH. I don’t think partying with me is a good idea either, princess.”  
 _No._ I couldn’t believe he was saying what he was saying.  
“I’m not deserting you, Gerard. I’d never do that. But I’m not taking you out with me anymore. Not the way I have been.”  
“But, Bert-” I started.  
“No buts.” He said, chuckling (probably at they way it could be misconstrued as “ _no butts_ ”), “I was gonna let you handle this stuff with Frank on your own, but I can’t do that anymore. Not if he knows about our little business. Not if he makes you upset like this.”  
He hugged me tighter.  
“And I've thought of a way we can get back at him, if you think it’ll make you feel better.” Bert whispered.  
I turned to look at Bert then, finding the all-too-familiar evil I’d seen in his eyes hundreds of times before. I couldn’t help but feel overwhelming curiosity.  
“What do you have in mind?” I asked softly.  
He raised an eyebrow, probably surprised he’d been able to get genuine interest from me so easily.  
“Well… for starters you have to stop moping around in my bed, as cute as it is.” He smirked, “And then we gotta get you dressed up _all pretty_..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this kind of a short update! TGIF (thank god it's... frerard? Frerard. Yeah. Thank god.)


	22. Shipping It

“I’m not getting out of this bed.” I protested.  
“Why not, Gee?” Bert drawled. He wrapped a hand around my ankle and tried to pull me off the mattress. I pulled out of his grasp and tucked my legs under myself, curling up into a little ball.  
“What’s the point?” I mumbled into the fabric of my sweatshirt.  
“You’re being awful dramatic, you know that?” He chuckled, flopping back onto the bed beside me. He pulled the blanket over our us and smirked at me in the dim. “You really don’t even wanna hear what I had in mind?”  
“My life is over. I’m allowed to be dramatic.” I croaked. “And no, I have no interest in your revenge plot.”  
“Gee, your life isn’t over. I don’t see how anything has changed at all. He wasn’t your boyfriend before and he’s not your boyfriend your boyfriend now. What’s different about your life?” Bert asked.  
“A lot.” I breathed. “A lot has changed, Bert. The fact that I’m here right now is proof of that.. He loves me back, I’m mis-”  
“You should just go out with me instead.” he interrupted flatly. “I could be your rebound.”  
I stared at him hard, trying to read his face.  
“ _Bert_ … I’m…” I mumbled, letting the shock was over me. “I’m a fucking mess right now and-”  
“A _hot_ mess.” Bert laughed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just wanted to see the look on your face. I know where we stand...”  
I blinked at him. Confusion and shock and misery all fighting for the center of the stage in my brain.  
“You’re an asshole.” I groaned.  
“ _Yes._ ” Bert agreed, “But okay... I was kind of serious. You should pretend to be my boyfriend, Gee.”  
“This is your scheme to get back at Frank, isn’t it?” I asked wearily.  
“You bet it is.” Bert smiled. “Come on, dude. I won’t even make you meet my psycho parents or anything.”  
“Why on Earth do you think this is a good idea?” I asked.  
“Think of how pissed Frankie would be.” He smirked, rolling towards me and wrapping an arm around my middle.  
“Bert…” I sighed. “I don’t know.”  
“Okay… Forget Frank for a second.” He continued, “It might get those press vultures off your back, right?”  
“How?” I breathed.  
“Damage control, baby.” Bert smirked, “Right now you’ve given ‘em a whole lot to write about. Everyone found out about your fanfics and you relapsed and-”  
“Don’t call them fanfics.” I interrupted with a groan. “Oh my god.”  
“Stories. _God, whatever._ ” Bert said. “Anyways, you and Frank are obviously on bad terms. If that information gets into the wrong hands, Gee, that’s just gasoline on the fire…. so all I’m saying if you just make it really publicly obvious that you’ve moved the fuck on and your band is doing fine then there’s nothing for them to write about.”  
“I’m not following.” I mumbled.  
“If you walk around pretending you’re all happy with your new boyfriend it’s like saying ‘fuck you’ to the whole situation.”  
Bert’s eyes were wide and shiny and full of evil hopefulness.  
“Just… go out with me a few times.” he continued. “Be _seen with me._ Kiss me in front of the cameras. Everyone will think that shit you wrote about Frank was nothing if you’re seeing someone else.”  
I closed my eyes. Agreeing to Bert’s scheming always felt like making a deal with the devil.  
“I just… I don’t know.” I said, honestly.  
“Come on, Gee.” Bert cooed. “It’ll be fun.”  
“Okay… maybe. But just a few times.”  
“Great! Get the fuck out of bed!” Bert yelled, darting forward and planting a sloppy wet kiss on my nose. “I’m going to be the best boyfriend. You have no idea!” An evil laugh escaped his lips.  
Suddenly Bert was ripping the blankets and leaping across the room to pick up his phone.  
“I know of a few parties going on tonight that we could totally hit up and-” Bert mumbled excitedly to himself, tapping away at his phone.  
I sat there with the blankets pooled in my lap, watching Bert scheme. Bert wasn’t _bad_ necessarily, but he was definitely evil.  
“Okay… so back to getting you dressed up.” He said, spinning towards me and surveying my appearance.  
A nervous feeling settled in my chest. Nervousness or perhaps regret, as I wondered what the fuck I had actually just agreed to.  
“If you don’t get out of my bed, Gee, I swear to God…” he threatened openly. I shuffled towards the edge of the bed and swung my feet off.  
“Happy?” I asked, tucking my hair behind my ear and smiling weakly.  
“No. Up!” He scolded, taking my hands in his and lifting me off the bed. The blood rushed to my head, making little dots swim in my vision.  
“Okay… Now spin for me.” Bert tutted. Chewing his lip and considering my clothes.  
I held my arms out and turned slowly, letting out a dramatic sigh.  
It would be an understatement to say that my appearance had gone downhill over the last couple of weeks. Being with Frank, taking care of Frank, keeping my band together, keeping myself together… all of those things had come before stuff like laundry or touching up my roots. I hadn’t really thought about it until Bert said we had to dress up.  
“Mmmmm. I like the jeans. They’re… tight in all the right places.” Bert commented. “But I don’t know about the shirt. Take that one off.”  
I pulled the shirt off and dropped it on the floor.  
Bert spun around and flipped through the garments on hangers in his closet, humming to himself thoughtfully. He produced a tattered metal shirt. I couldn’t read the band name in the intricate font, but a faded green goblin sat atop a mountain of skulls. I pulled it over my head. There were holes all over the shirt.  
“Bert I can’t go out in this.” I said, poking my fingers through one of the holes.  
“Why not? Cause of all the holes?” Bert asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow. “It’s called the ‘distressed’ look and it works great on pale model-boys like you.”  
“But, it’s also like… winter?” I said.  
“Well I’m going to give you something to put over it obviously.” Bert sighed, rolling his eyes. “I just have to find one that’ll fit over your shoulders.”  
He resumed flipping through his clothes, settling on a plain oversized black cardigan.  
I pulled it on and turned around to look at myself in the mirror. I felt better somehow.  
“Sit down, I’m wanna touch up your eyeliner.” Bert instructed.  
I perched on the edge of his bed with my hands folded in my lap.  
He pulled a box out of somewhere and rifled through it. He produced a black eyeliner pencil and stepped towards me.  
“So… I know you told me not to… but I sort of… did some research...” Bert said, brow furrowed in concentration. His stale cigarette breath washed over my face as he brought the eyeliner pencil to my lower lid.  
“On?” I asked, trying not to twitch against the prodding sensation of the pencil.  
“So... there’s this thing called ‘shipping’ and-”  
“Oh my god we are not talking about this.” I grumbled, jerking my head back.  
“Hold still. You’re gonna make me mess up.” He scolded, moving the pencil along my upper lid.  
“What do you want to know?” I asked begrudgingly, heaving a deep sigh.  
“Well okay…” Bert continued happily. “So… you and Frankie. That’s an example of a ‘ship’. It’s got a name. It’s ‘Ferard.’ Only, I don’t know if that’s the correct pronunciation?”  
“There’s not really a correct way, since it’s more commonly typed than spoken.” I said, feeling my cheeks heat up.”  
“Makes sense…” Bert mused. “Did you know that some people ship _us?_ ”  
He moved to my other eye, sliding the eyeliner pencil along with practiced movements.  
“Yeah… I did.” I said softly.  
“How come you didn’t tell me?” He asked, letting out a breathy laugh.  
“I don’t know… It never came up. I don’t like talking about that stuff... It’s embarrassing.” I shrugged.  
“Don’t move.” He scolded again, pulling the pencil away to observe his work. “I mean… what’s so bad about it, Gee? Honestly? Some people do way worse things. What you’ve done hasn’t hurt anyone… except maybe you. Could be worse. _A lot worse._ You could be addicted to drugs like me. You could be a murderer. You could-”  
“But I ruined Frank’s relationship.” I pointed out. “ _Frank_ got hurt.”  
“You didn’t do that.” Bert said, tilting my chin up and turning my head back and forth slowly. He brought the pencil back to my eye to touch up a spot he had missed.  
“What do you mean? Frank and Jamia broke up because of what I did.”  
“I don’t believe that.” Bert argued. “You’re um, _involved_ with Frank so it’s probably hard for you to see things subjectively… but there’s no way that writing out a few of your daydreams destroyed their relationship. And even _if_ that was the case, which, again, there’s _no way,_ if something that small broke them up they shouldn’t have been together anyways.”  
I smiled weakly, considering Bert’s words.  
“Anyways. Enough about Frank. So there’s _Frerard,_ ” Bert said with a smirk, still rolling the word on his tongue like it tasted funny, “and then there’s _Gerbert._.. so that means people ship us, right?”  
“That’s what that means, yes.” I said softly, trying not to move my face as Bert moved on to applying white face powder over my cheekbones.  
“I just don’t understand the concept, I guess? If I like someone does that mean that I ship myself with that person?”  
“If you’re _a fucking nerd_ maybe.” I mumbled through pursed lips as he slid the brush over my jawline. I wanted to point out that he should’ve done the powder before the eyeliner but I kept my mouth shut.  
“I don’t get it.” Bert sighed.  
“I think ‘shipping’ exists more in the realm of fiction... “ I said, blushing, “The term isn’t really meant to be applied elsewhere.”  
He laughed and shook his head, moving on to put product in my hair.  
“Just a little volume.” He mumbled to himself, squinting as he tousled my hair, humming softly. His fingers ghosted over my neck.  
“Did Frankie do this to you?” He asked, smirking and staring at what remained of the bruises littering my neck.  
I’d almost forgotten about the fading hickies. They served as a reminder that Frank had been all over me. My breath caught in my throat at the remembered sensation of his lips on my skin...  
  
 _“No one’s going to fucking believe it was me.”  
  
“I’m gonna make you all mine and I don’t fucking care who knows.”_  
  
“Sorry I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Bert whispered, brushing his thumb against the corner of my eye. I didn’t even realize I’d teared up.  
He took a step back and bit his lip in thought.  
“You look good, Gee.” He said earnestly, smiling. “Let me get myself all pretty and then we’ll go.”  
“Where are we going?” I asked.  
“That’s for me to know.” He singsonged with an evil smirk on his face. “Relax, okay? We’re not going anywhere fun.”  
~  
  
Bert had promised over and over that Frank wasn’t going to be where we were going. I wasn’t sure if he was being honest with me or not, but I refused to leave his apartment until he promised. That way if Frank was there I could at least be mad at him for breaking his promise.  
He told me some of Frank’s friends might be there, which, he said, didn’t mean Frank would be there.  
The car drove through a part of the city that looked semi-familiar. I recognized the buildings we drove past in a vague sort of way. All of manhattan looked the same, though, really.  
“So… just make a left up at the next light.” Bert told the cabbie. The guy nodded silently and changed the radio station. The music was too quiet to really make out in the back of the car.  
“I feel sick.” I mumbled.  
“Just look out the window and focus on things that are far away.” Bert said softly, squeezing my hand.  
“I’m afraid of seeing Frank again… I’m not _carsick._ ” I laughed.  
“Well If you focus on things that are far away you won’t see Frank, even if he’s right in front of you.” Bert pointed out. “Which he won’t be. He’s not gonna be where we’re going.”  
“How can you be so sure?” I asked, taking Bert’s advice and looking out the window. “Where are we going?”  
“Frank doesn’t care about parties.” he said.  
“He’s not exactly predictable.” I said.  
“True. Which is weird, cause assholes like him usually are...” Bert shrugged. “But he hates sceney shit. He won’t be a problem for us. I promise.”  
Bert paid the cab driver and pulled me out of the car by the hand. I stepped onto the littered sidewalk, wind-whipping around me. Everything was lit up, casting neon glows against every surface.  
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I asked as Bert held open the door for me.  
“It was my idea, wasn’t it?” Bert pointed out, raising an eyebrow.  
“Well, yeah, but-”  
“We’re already here. Let’s just have a good time, yeah?” Bert said quietly, stepping in after me. “We can leave whenever you want. Just say the words.”  
I nodded and looked up at the room full of people. All of them had drinks in their hands.  
I told myself to act natural but I couldn’t seem to remember _what Gerard Way would naturally do._ It was disorienting, everyone and everything was moving too fast. I wanted a drink, just to slow everything down.  
“Can I get you a drink?” Bert asked, brandishing a private smirk.  
“Mmmm, diet coke please.” I nodded, smiling shyly. He squeezed my shoulder and disappeared into the people crowded around the bar. I gazed around the room, not recognizing any of the faces staring back at me. That crippling paranoia that they knew about my writing set in pretty quickly.  
I tried to think about the fics as very public daydreams, as Bert had put it. It helped a little. I still wanted to retreat to a quiet bedroom with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a marathon of bad daytime television for the next decade. I glanced over at a girl who was staring at me with a curious look on her face. _Two decades, maybe._ Long enough for half of the people in the room to have died off, moved away or become irrelevant.  
I stared at my feet, wishing the place wasn’t so fucking well-lit. I felt vulnerable and exposed, even if it was all in my head.  
“Hey Gerard.” a voice said. I glanced up to find Bert’s bandmate, Jepha, staring back at me. “Glad you guys made it. You already look like you could use a cigarette.” Jepha commiserated, tilting his head towards a door leading to an outdoor area.  
“You have no idea.” I nodded. “I’m, um, waiting for Bert, he’s just-”  
“Don’t worry, your _boyfriend_ will find us.” Jeph smirked, clasping a hand over my shoulders and steering me towards the door.  
“My- Oh! Um. Okay.” I stammered, realizing Jepha must be in on it.  
“Real smooth, Gee.” Jeph laughed. “Totally convincing.”  
“Sorry, I’m going to have to work on that aren’t I?” I mumbled.  
“Not _necessarily._ ” Jeph hummed. “You’ve always been fucking awkward, Way. You start acting all eloquent and people might get confused.”  
I was surprised Bert had told his band already. He hadn’t mentioned telling anyone. It was nice, I supposed, that Jepha was in on our scheming.  
  
Bert found us smoking outside on the patio a few moments later. He passed me my drink and lit a cigarette for himself. When he pushed the smoke out of his lungs he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek.  
“You don’t have to do that when no one’s around.” I whispered against his ear, out of Jepha’s range of hearing.  
“You never know who’s watching, Gee... Besides, you’re too pretty. Maybe you should’ve worn different jeans...” Bert leered softly, taking a sip of his drink. “  
He must’ve interpreted my lack of words as disapproval because his face went from smug to apologetic.  
“I’m only teasing, Gee. Don’t freak out.” He said softly, squeezing my shoulder.  
“I know” I assured smiling weakly.  
What Bert didn’t know was that he had demonstrated what Frank was trying to explain when he’d said he didn’t want to see me anymore. Frank had never made me feel so wanted. Not out in public anyways. He couldn’t, even if he wanted to.  
And it was **_nice_** to feel wanted…  
The thought had me comparing and overanalyzing every difference between Frank and Bert in the hour or so that followed. The time just sort of passed as I considered the differences between the one guy who was off limits and all the other people on earth who weren’t. Bert kept his hand on my lower back, on my shoulder, on my wrist, as we went around the party talking to people he knew. They would smile or raise their eyebrows whenever Bert leaned in to kiss me on the cheek or whisper something in my ear. Just as he’d said, we ended up in a lot of pictures together.  
I wished it was Frank beside me, kissing me gently and leaving the rest of the world to wonder what it meant.  
At some point I started to feel fuzzy and lightheaded. Bert had been hanging off of me in front of some music journalist he said he knew. She had asked if there were upcoming plans for My Chem and The Used to possibly tour together. Bert thought it sounded like a great idea and planted a sloppy kiss in my hair. Her mouth kind of hung open a little as her eyes darted back and forth between the two of us, silently making the connection in her brain. I could practically see the gears turning in her pretty blonde head.  
I tried not to choke on the sip of diet soda in my mouth.  
I mumbled out an excuse, telling them both that I saw someone I needed to speak to and that I’d be right back. Bert gave me a small, understanding nod.  
Her reaction had been what I wanted. I tried to remind myself of that as I wove through the crowd, bumping into people as I kept my head down. I had _wanted_ people to think Bert and I were together.  
I shouldered into the bathroom, checking under the stalls to make sure no one else was in the room before slumping against the counter and letting out a dramatic sigh.  
I held my breath and counted backwards from 15, trying to fight off the looming onset of one hell of a panic attack. I don’t know how long I stood there, listening to the muffled roar of people talking over the music and praying no one would come in.  
I felt around in my pockets for my phone.  
I had put my phone on the silent setting when Bert and I had been getting ready because it had been ringing like crazy. Frank was calling me every half hour like clockwork and I had no interest in speaking to him.  
Things felt over between us in a way they hadn’t felt before. I was resolved to the end of our pathetic excuse for a relationship. I wasn’t okay with it, but I could accept it. I would make a point to start dating again. I could get Mikey to set me up on some blind dates or something. _Other fish in the sea_ or whatever my mom always said when I came home with a broken heart.  
I knew there were a lot of things Frank and I still had to sort out, but I just found it completely amazing that he wasn’t even going to give me the time or space to sort out my feelings first.  
I pulled my phone out of the sweater pocket. The battery was drained to almost nothing.  
17 missed calls.  
2 texts.  
All from Frank.  
“ _me and J didnt get back together. can you stop acting like this and answer your phone?_ ” The first one read.  
“ _please. we need to talk_ ” The second one said.  
I drafted out a few different things I wanted to say to him. Nothing I could fit in a text really covered what needed to be said. It was so weird how Frank had gone from being my best friend and my guitarist to being this person I desperately wanted to avoid. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him… I just didn’t know what to make of that anymore.  
Bert’s suggestion of finding a new guitarist came to mind. I wanted to punch myself for even thinking about it.  
I settled on “ _i don’t want to talk to you.”_ and almost hit send but thought better of it.  
I spun around and inspected my appearance in the mirror. Through the nerves I could still appreciate how good Bert had done on my hair and makeup. If his band wasn’t already taking off I would’ve found some way to enlist him as my makeup artist, even if he applied products in the wrong order.  
I was stalling. Ignoring the fact that I had to deal with Frank.  
My phone screen lit up, alerting me that I had another text. Frank again, of course.  
I held my breath as I opened the message.  
“ _just fucking promise me youre okay. dont make come find you._ ” it read. _Classic Frank._  
If I didn’t answer he’d call Mikey and Mikey would call Bert and… I didn’t need everyone getting involved.  
“ _i’m fine. i just dont want to talk to you._ ” I settled on writing. I hit send before I could change my mind.  
I set my phone down on the counter and swiped at the corner of my eye where my eyeliner had smudged.  
The phone screen lit up with a new message.  
“ _can I see you later?_ ” Frank wrote.  
No. No. A thousand times ‘No’.  
“ _i cant_ ” I wrote back.  
“ _you’re out with bert aren’t you?_ ” He responded.  
I wanted to tell him it was none of his business where I was... Which was stupid because he was the entire reason I was out.  
Before I could think of a response the bathroom door swung open with a squeak.  
“There you are.” Bert said cheerily. “How’d I know you’d be in here?”  
He crossed the room and pulled me in for a hug.  
“We should go.” He mumbled into my hair. “I shouldn’t have even brought you out. I don’t know what I was thinking. You’ve been through enough today.”  
“I’m fine. We don’t have to leave if you’re having a good time.” I said, hooking my fingers around the arm that was stretched across my chest. “I just needed a moment...”  
I glanced up at our reflections in the mirror. I liked how we looked together. Not even in a romantic way, necessarily. Bert and I looked like we belonged side by side. The pale skin, the crazy hair, the bloodshot eyes. On second thought it could’ve had more to do with the fact that I was wearing Bert’s clothes.  
“I always have a good time, Gee.” Bert sighed, resting his head on my shoulder. “Have you ever seen me not having a good time?”  
I thought about it for a second, trying to pull up a time that Bert might’ve been a drunken, crying mess or took too many pills or something. I couldn’t think of any times like that. Bert chuckled softly. The sound echoed in the silent bathroom.  
“You always have a good time.” I resolved.  
“I always have a good time.” He repeated fondly, squeezing me gently before pulling away from me. “Let’s go. You haven’t eaten anything today and I wanna take you to dinner.”  
The suggestion sounded nice.  
“Okay… yeah.” I nodded.  
He grinned back at me, reaching out and pulling me by the arm out of the bathroom and into the crowded room. I felt at least a dozen pairs of eyes on us as Bert wrapped his arm around my waist, steering me out of the bar.  
~  
  
“I want a burger.” Bert said, linking our arms as we walked down the block. “Can we hit up a diner or something?”  
“I know a good one not too far from here.” I said, breathing in the frigid winter air.  
“Is it walking distance or should we get a cab?” Bert asked.  
“Mmmm. We can walk.” I hummed.  
“Lead the way.” he said, linking our arms together.  
I pulled out a cigarette and cupped my hand around the end to light it. The second I had it burning, Bert plucked it from my lips and puffed on it. I glared at him as he passed it back to me nonchalantly, leaning into me and smiling to himself as we walked.  
We walked through the busy manhattan streets, sharing cigarettes and holding hands. Bert would comment on what he thought of the outfits that hung on the people we passed. I put a stop to his rendition of ‘Fashion Police’ after he criticized the coat on some drunkard who turned around and asked Bert if ‘he wanted to say that again’. I picked up our pace, pulling Bert along and mumbled an apology to the guy over my shoulder. Bert, of course, thought it was hilarious.  
Eventually we shouldered into a restaurant. It wasn’t the one I had in mind, but my fingers were going numb and Bert had to pee.  
The waitress showed us to a booth up against the windows in the back of the place. It was completely empty aside from an old couple a few booths down.  
I sat there taking in the peaceful silence, waiting for Bert to return from the bathroom. I pulled my phone out to check if I had any more texts from Frank. He hadn’t texted me but he’d called 3 more times.  
I turned my phone off and stared at the black screen.  
  
“Talking to your boyfriend?” Bert singsonged as he slid onto the seat across from me.  
“He wants to see me.” I sighed.  
“Course he does.” Bert sighed back, mimicking my tone again.  
“What the fuck am I going to do?” I asked, scrubbing my hands over my face.  
“You just totally ruined your makeup.” Bert sighed, picking up a menu and flitting through the pages.  
“Fuck… I forgot I was wearing it.” I groaned. “Why are you looking at a menu if you already know what you want to order?”  
“You look tragic. Do you know what you want?” Bert asked.  
“I don’t want anything. I want to die of starvation.” I grumbled.  
“Not an option.” Bert tutted.  
“Can I get you two anything to drink?” A waitress with a pad in her hand asked cheerily, pausing in front of our table.  
“Two coffees.” Bert told her with a wink.  
“Do you know what you want to order yet or do you need a minute?” She asked.  
“Mmmm. I’ll have a cheeseburger deluxe.” Bert hummed. “And my friend here will have the eggs benedict.”  
The waitress smiled back at him, scribbled on her pad and walked off with our menus.  
“Why’d you order for me?” I asked.  
“Do you want to go see him?” Bert asked, ignoring my question.  
“I don’t know... Yes and no.” I mused.  
“You’re going to have to see him anyway eventually. Like, at band practice tomorrow?”  
“We’ll just fight.” I sighed. “That’s all that will happen if I go see him.”  
“But wouldn’t you rather fight in private than in front of your band?” Bert asked.  
“It’s not like it’ll be one or the other. We always fight.” I said, pulling a pen out of my pocket and starting to doodle on the napkin in front of me.  
“What do you even fight about?” Bert asked. He’d crossed his arms over the table and was resting his chin against them, staring at the motions of my pen over the napkin. I usually hated when people paid attention to what I was drawing. It never bothered me when Bert did it, though. Probably because he didn’t ask about the drawings until I was done with them.  
“Everything. We fight constantly.” I explained, adding shading to the scene I’d sketched. I glanced up at Bert in the interest of adding him into the picture.  
“At least there’s no lack of passion.” Bert commented with a bored smirk on his face.  
“What do you mean?”  
“I ordered for you because you seem to be having difficulty making decisions.” he said, changing the subject back. “And everyone likes eggs benedict.”  
“Except Frank.” I pointed out.  
“Right.” Bert agreed with a smile. _“Except Frank.”_  
The waitress brought us our coffee and Bert busied himself mixing cream and sugar into his coffee.  
“You want anything in yours?” He asked.  
“Just a little cream.” I said.  
“So… please tell me all this bullshit hasn’t gotten in the way of your art.” Bert said, rolling up the paper from an emptied sugar packet and flicking it across the room.  
“I guess... it has.” I said, flipping the napkin over to start a new drawing on the other side.  
“That sucks.” he said.  
“Yeah.” I shrugged.  
“You really need to do something about all this.” Bert said. “Seriously, Gee. I hate that you’re not drawing.”  
“I _am_ doing something about it.” I replied. “Right now.”  
“You are?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“Yeah. I’m out on a date with you and I’m drawing you a picture on this napkin.” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “Moving on.”  
“But what are you gonna do about Frank?” Bert asked.  
“Nothing.” I shrugged. “He said he doesn’t want to be together. He’s made up his mind about it.”  
“His mind didn’t seem so made up when I talked to him earlier.” Bert pointed out.  
“What did he say?”  
“Mostly threatening shit. But he also seemed worried he’d ruined things with you forever.”  
“Things aren’t completely ruined. I still want to be in a band with him and stuff. He’s still my friend.”  
“You should tell himthat.” Bert sighed. “He’s really freaked out.”  
“My phone’s dead.”  
“Wanna use mine?” Bert asked, sliding his phone across the table.  
“He’s just gonna yell at me and ask to see me. I’ll just deal with it tomorrow.” I said.  
“Okay.” Bert said, pulling his phone back.  
When the waitress came out with our plates Bert asked her if they had any paper behind the counter. She came back with a stack of several sheets of paper. I couldn’t figure out what Bert wanted them for until he slid them across the table towards me.  
“Draw me something pretty.” He insisted.  
I stared down at the blank page for a moment, terrified of the blank space. After making the first couple of marks I quickly got lost in a frenzy of drawings, only pausing to take sips of coffee.  
Bert ate his burger in silence as he watched me work.  
At some point the sound of him sliding into the booth startled me. I hadn’t even noticed that he’d gone out for a cigarette. I hadn’t noticed that my plate of food had been replaced with a small white box inside of a plastic bag.  
“What time is it?” I asked, drinking my refilled coffee cup.  
“About 3:30 in the morning.” Bert replied.  
“Seriously?” I gasped.  
“Apparently they’re open all night.” Bert laughed. “Wanna go home?”  
“Uh yeah. Sure. Shit, dude, why didn’t you say something?” I asked.  
“Was good to see you work.” Bert shrugged, collecting the papers, now littered in drawings, off of the table. He folded them carefully and slid them into his pocket.  
“Come on, I already paid. Let’s get out of here.” Bert said, sliding into his coat.  
I slid out of the booth and followed Bert out of the diner.  
It had gotten colder outside. We huddled against each other for warmth as we hailed a cab.  
“Your place or mine?” He asked through chattering teeth.  
“I don’t put out on a first date.” I told him sarcastically. A cab slowed down for us in the street.  
“Liar.” He smirked. “Let’s go to yours. Easier for you to get to practice in the morning.”  
“Sure, whatever.” I said, climbing into the back of cab and giving the driver my address.  
It was much warmer inside of the car. I leaned into Bert who was still shivering like crazy.  
We rode in comfortable silence. I watch the city roll by. Neon signs clashed with street lights, blending together in a colorful blur of light.  
As the cab pulled up on my apartment complex I felt a pang of dread. Frank still had a key to my place. I hoped he wasn’t there… because I had Bert with me.  
I paid the driver and climbed out, glancing up to my floor. The windows of my unit were dark which was a good sign.  
Bert practically shoved me inside of the building and up the stairs, grumbling about the cold, the winter and ‘fuck New Jersey’.  
  
There was no one in my apartment and I couldn’t tell if there was more disappointment or relief in my heart.  
  
Bert made himself at home, sliding out of his jacket, kicking off his shoes and disappearing into my room to flop down onto my bed. By the time I had followed him he was already flipping through the channels on the TV and dozing off.  
I dropped onto the bed beside Bert, and stared at the TV. I found myself wondering what Frank was doing. Feeling sick when I wished it was Frank snoring beside me. I close my eyes and tried to push all thoughts of Frank away. When I’d finally gotten the thoughts of him away, I was left with one haunting notion:  
  
 _Practice the next day was going to fucking suck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not updating for so long!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> i hope the length of this chapter makes up for it.
> 
> i don't know how i feel about this update or this story in general. i read through it all and i just... kind of hate it? like, i feel like i tried to do too much in one fic.
> 
> the next update won't take so long, i promise!! like, it's basically already written.  
> i love you all!! thx for your comments n encouragement n shit. <3
> 
> -m


	23. He Loves Me Not, He Loves Me

I stood in the parking lot outside of the practice space with genuine dread in my chest. I had only showed up because Mikey said I had to. My Chem was booked to play a few local shows at a small venue in the city starting the day after that morning and everything needed to be run through.  
I glanced around the parked cars, looking for Frank’s car. I breathed easier when I didn’t see it.  
I tightened my scarf over the platonic hickeys Bert had insisted on giving me when he’d done my makeup earlier that morning and wandered towards the building, trying to think of nothing but the crunch of gravel under my feet.  
The building was warm and held the familiar scent of old paper and beer, like a library and a houseparty fucked into one. I slowly walked towards the practice room. I paused in the hallway, wondering if I should turn around and go back to the my car to get my gloves. It could get cold in the practice room on windy days. The whole place was drafty. Clammy hands could be so distracting and… I knew that if I went back to my car I wouldn’t be able to convince myself to come back inside.  
I hovered in front of the practice room, listening to the voices on the other side of the door. I recognized Ray’s cheerful voice and Mikey’s laugh, followed by Bob smacking a cymbal with his drumstick to make sure it was as loose as he liked. I took a deep breath and opened the door.  
“Gerard! Hey!” Ray said cheerily, spinning around to grin at me. “Only 20 minutes late.”  
Mikey looked up from his spot on the couch. He was huddled over his bass, running a cloth between the strings.  
“Alight so…” Ray sighed. “Since everyone’s all here now, let’s get down to business.”  
He plopped down on the couch beside Mikey who was staring at me with an apologetic frown. Bob got out from behind his drum set and perched on an arm of the couch.  
“But Frank’s not here… shouldn’t we wait for...” I trailed off, heart fluttering in response to saying his name out loud.  
None of them were looking at me. The three of them were all focused on the same spot behind me. As soon as I put two and two together I heard someone clear their throat behind me.  
“Hey Gerard.” Frank said softly. I cringed at the withered tone of his voice.  
“Oh… Hi Frank.” I mumbled, feeling my blood run cold. I wasn’t brave enough to turn around and look at him.  
The rest of the band stared at Frank and I with great curiosity, like they weren’t sure what we would do if we were put in the same room. They must’ve been caught up on the details of our fight somehow.  
It was like all the air had been sucked out of the room.  
“Nice scarf.” Mikey said, eyes darting between me and wherever Frank was standing behind me. I couldn’t decide if the little shit was trying to break the tension in the room or make everything worse.  
“Thanks.” I said softly, feeling myself blush like crazy and instantly regretting letting Bert suck on my neck for so long. Mikey clearly thought Frank had done it and Frank would be upset when he saw saw the marks and realized someone else had done it.  
“So anyway,” Ray continued, “I talked to Brian this morning. He said he’ll fill us in on the details as soon as he has them, but we might be approached about a tour in the near future. After the album drops.”  
“Cool. That’s… that’s great.” I said, biting my lip and dropping into a plastic chair across from the couch.  
“Frank, you want to sit down?” Ray asked. It reminded me of that thing my parents used to do where they’d command me to do something but disguise it as a question.  
“Um… yeah okay.” Frank said softly, dropping in the chair beside me, which made me feel especially like Ray was a parent and we were his unruly children. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Frank’s guitar balanced in his lap. His fingers fidgeted over the frets like they always did whenever he was anxious.  
“What that’s gonna mean, though,” Ray said. “Is that we all need to be on our best behavior. For these next couple of shows there’ll be representatives from the label and shit.”  
“So no fighting, you two.” Bob teased, smiling warmly at me. He twirled a drumstick between his fingers absentmindedly.  
“We’re not-” I started to say.  
“Gerard just...” Ray interrupted, “Let’s not get into it today, yeah? Just... _no upsetting each other._ Not at the venue. _Please._ Frank, no fistfights, you got that?”  
Bob dropped the drumstick he’d been twirling glanced over at Ray, probably surprised Ray was being so blunt about it.  
“Fuck you.” Frank mumbled. It was his default response when he had nothing else to add in an argument. There was no venom behind the two words.  
“And Gerard, just call Frank back.” Bob said, turning his gaze to me.  
“I don’t see why I sh-”  
“You don’t have to marry the guy, just… hear him out, okay?” Bob countered. “That’s all.”  
An awkward silence fell over the room then. I was frozen in my seat, fingernails digging into my palms. The anxious twang of Frank’s fingers running over his frets battled with the soft vibrations of Mikey’s bass strings as he cleaned his fretboard. Bob leaned over to pick up his drum stick and ended up kicking it further away. The sound of it rolling away was somehow deafening.  
“Alright, well fuck this.” Ray said cheerily, lifting himself off the couch and going for his guitar, “Nice talk everyone. Looking forward to touring with you all again.” He lifted the strap over his head and plugged in to his amp. He started tuning without waiting for anyone else to catch up. Silently leading, as always.  
The frustration on Ray’s face was all I needed to be reminded of why you weren’t supposed to fuck the other members of your band. The turmoil between Frank and I had gotten so bad it was getting in the way of the music and I’d just kind of… let it. I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck, hoping to hide the marks there. Just outright telling them I’d moved on might’ve made everything better in some weird way.  
We just had to do run-throughs of everything that was going on the setlist. Everyone seemed to still have the songs together except for me. One look at Frank and I forgot all the fucking words, which would be a real problem when we were performing live. I had no idea how to vocalize it to the rest of the band. If Frank had any idea he had that sort of power over me he’d use it.  
Frank probably should’ve received an award for the way he was avoiding me. I tried not to move around too much in an attempt to help him stay the fuck away. I spent a lot of the practice session with my eyes closed.  
A frontman standing in place with his eyes closed wasn’t going to make for very interesting stage presence, but I couldn’t think of any other solutions. I made a mental note to ask Bert how to handle that side of things in a way that didn’t involve copious amounts of drugs and alcohol.  
Aside from having to hold a print-out of the lyrics to my own fucking songs and the murderously blank look on Frank’s face everything went smoothly for the duration of practice. Bob was happy to be banging out his frustrations on the drums. Ray was mostly pleased with the general togetherness of the band. He mothered us when he thought it was necessary, pointing out if Mikey came in a second too late, or if I fucked up on the lyrics again.  
  
At the end of practice I just wanted to curl up into a little ball and die. I felt like I was going to as I made eye contact with Frank on my way out of the practice room. He looked sad, exhausted and pale, withered from a few days of poor sleep, or perhaps even sleeplessness.  
“Gerard, can we talk for a second?” Frank asked flatly.  
“Um… sure....” I sighed, stepping back towards the door.  
He slung his guitar in it’s case over his shoulder and followed me out into the hallway.  
“What’s up?” I asked, checking over my shoulder to make sure that we were alone as we walked down the hallway side by side.  
“You know I didn’t get back together with Jamia, right?” he asked.  
“Yeah… Bert told me.” I said, keeping my eyes intently on the ground.  
“Fuck you for even thinking I’d move on that easily.” Frank spat.  
“Honestly, Frank?” I shot back, stopping just short of the door to the parking lot and glaring hard at him, “What was I supposed to think? You would’ve thought the same thing if some half-naked chick answered my door.”  
“I probably would’ve answered your fucking phone calls after the fact.” Frank argued.  
“Is this what you wanted to talk about!?” I yelled, hearing my own voice echoing down the hallway, “You just wanted to point out how stupid I am for assuming what every other person on the fucking planet would’ve assumed?!”  
“No. I wanted to fucking explain myself to you.” He said, eerily calm.  
“What’s the point?” I groaned, “Why can’t you let me think you guys got back together? That’s so much fucking easier to navigate than whatever the hell this is.”  
“Because that makes me look like a fucking asshole.” Frank spat.  
 _“You are an asshole.”_ I pointed out.  
“So are you!” He yelled, “God… just-just fucking shut up for a second and let me explain myself, alright?”  
“Make it quick.” I muttered.  
“No.” he argued.  
I just glared at him silently then.  
“Okay, fine… I’ll fucking try.” Frank amended. “Okay so Jamia was just at my apartment getting some of her things... And we started fighting and-”  
“Frank, I don’t think I wanna know.” I interrupted as my brain painted a truly horrific picture of makeup sex, “Can you just spare me the details and get to the fucking point?”  
“Just fucking listen to me for a second, okay?” Frank snapped, cursing under his breath.  
I folded my arms over my chest and resumed glaring at him silently.  
“Look, Jamia knows about…” He paused to wave a hand between us, “About us. And she didn’t wanna freak you out by bringing it up when she answered the door. But when she came to get her stuff that day we ended up fighting about you. She doesn’t like how I handled you relapsing...”  
“You fucking told her I relapsed?” I hissed. “Frank, that’s not your fucking secret to tell.”  
“I’m sorry.” Frank said softly. “I’m still in the habit of telling her everything, I guess? She’s harmless, she won’t tell anyone. I swear.”  
“I still don’t see how she ended up answering the door in her underwear.” I pointed out, “You don’t typically get naked when we argue.”  
“I’m getting to that.” Frank shot back, face flushing, “Look, we were clearing her stuff out of the apartment and she thought she had some stuff in the cabinets above the fridge… so we were going through the stuff up there and there was a bunch of house paint.”  
Frank paused to set his guitar down against the wall.  
“So we were going through all this stuff and she asked about you. We started arguing… God, we always fucking argue.” he sighed, “And she ended up dumping a can of paint on me.”  
“She what?” I breathed, trying not to laugh in spite of how shitty I felt.  
“Yeah! Fucking paint all over my thrice tour t-shirt and my favorite jeans and everything.” Frank said, smiling fondly, “I was so mad I wiped some of the paint off of my shirt and smeared it around in her hair. And then she got another can and was about to pour it on me... but I grabbed it and splashed it on her and pretty soon we were like, just angrily covering each other in paint.”  
“Oh my god.” I gasped.  
“I was trying to get that shit out of my hair when you showed up. Jamia thought you knew that me and her were cool so she didn’t think you’d freak out the way you did.”  
“I’m sorry I was so quick to assume, I-”  
“After you left like that she realized how it all must’ve looked to you but she couldn’t run after you because she was still in her underwear. Everyone on the second floor knows her so…” Frank trailed off.  
We stood there smiling at each other and it reminded me of how things had been before I’d gone and fucked it all up.  
“I’m sorry for freaking the fuck out like that.” I sighed.  
“You were right though, Gee. I would’ve freaked out, too…” He said softly.  
“Well, I have to get going.” I said, stepping towards the door when looking at him was too much to handle, “I… Bert wanted to touch up my roots for the show tomorrow.”  
“I don’t get why you wanna spend so much time with him.” Frank said, wrinkling his nose. He leaned over and grabbed the strap of his guitar case.  
“He’s actually not so bad.” I sighed, holding the door open for him.  
“He’s a fucking drug addict, Gerard.” Frank muttered, stepping past me.  
“So was I at one point. You were still friends with me back then.” I shrugged. “Anyways, I didn’t see your car on the way in… do you need a lift?”  
“That would be cool of you.” he nodded.  
I pulled my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the car, sliding in behind the wheel as Frank stashed his guitar in the back seat. I saw Ray leaving the building in my rear-view mirror as Frank slid into the passenger seat. I held my hand up to wave at Ray and he smiled and waved back.  
There was still so much left unsaid between Frank and I. I could feel it in the silence between us as I pulled the car out of the parking lot and onto the street. Frank stared out the window quietly like he always did, briefly reaching over now and then to turn the radio on, flip through the radio stations, complain that they all sucked, and turn it off again.  
Casual, polite questions kept dying on my lips. I wanted to ask him how he’d been, how his nightmares were progressing, if his medication helped at all, if he missed me. Every time I’d get brave enough to ask something I couldn’t stop myself from trying to predict the arguments it might cause. I wondered if the silence was just as confusing and uncomfortable for Frank as it was for me.  
Before I knew it I was turning the car down his street and into a visitor parking spot.  
“Thanks for the ride.” Frank said softly, unbuckling his seat belt. He made no motion to open the door and get out. He looked over at me as if he expected me to say something. I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing.  
“No problem.” I echoed, smiling weakly.  
“Look, Gerard…” Frank sighed, “I didn’t mean it when I said I didn’t care.”  
“I know you didn’t.” I said, leaning back against the headrest.  
“I’m so fucking sorry I said all that shit to you that night at the party.” He continued.  
“Don’t be.” I offered, looking straight ahead at the other cars in the parking lot, “I probably deserved all of it.”  
“It wasn’t fair of me...” Frank said, reaching for my wrist and stroking his thumb over the sensitive spot below my palm. The contact pulled the breath from my lungs. “That’s what Jamia had been yelling at me about. You’re just trying to figure shit out. Blowing up on you like that doesn’t fix anything.”  
Frank’s gentle finger-strokes paired with his apologies were too intimate somehow. I tried to suppress the urge to pull my hand away.  
“If it’s any consolation, I forgive you.” I shrugged. “And I’m sorry for getting mixed up in all that stuff in the first place.”  
“Do you wanna come upstairs?” he asked. “There’s still paint everywhere but… I don’t know. I fucking miss you.”  
“I don’t know, Frank.” I whispered, pulling my hand out of his grasp. “I’m having a hard enough time getting over you as it is.”  
“That’s the thing though. I’ve had some time to think over the last few days, Gee…” he said softly, “What if we’re not meant to get over this? What if this is supposed to happen?”  
“Frank…” I groaned.  
“Why are you fighting this?” he breathed.  
“For my own fucking sanity.” I said, “Or something… I don’t know. I’m so tired of all of this.”  
“So let’s put a stop to it then.” Frank said, leaning towards me, “Come upstairs.”  
“Frank please…” I begged.  
He reached for my sweatshirt to pull me closer and ended up pulling at the scarf around my neck. I’d forgotten about the hickies entirely until I saw the confused look on Frank’s face.  
“What the fuck are those?” Frank whispered.  
“Don’t freak out, I can explain.” I said, “It was Bert’s idea.”  
“Bert?” Frank gasped, “You’re fucking Bert now? What the fuck, Gerard?!”  
“No it’s not like that.” I said as calmly as possible.  
“Like hell it’s not!” He yelled.  
“Frank, didn’t we just have a long fucking conversation about misunderstandings?” I said, reaching for his arm.  
“We did. Are you seriously going to try to tell me those aren’t hickies? I think I understand perfectly well.” he growled, pulling open the door, sliding out and slamming it behind him.  
I watched in confused horror as he stormed off towards his apartment building. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to follow or not. I thudded my forehead against the steering wheel in frustration.  
It was just a moment later that I realized Frank’s guitar was still in my back seat. I pulled my phone out and called Frank. Of course, it went straight to voicemail, the motherfucker.  
A text from Bert popped up at that moment.  
“where r u? already mixed up the dye. :.(“ it read.  
  
Frank said he’d spent the last few days thinking things over. I decided I’d give him another day and started the car.  
~  
  
I carried Frank’s guitar into Bert’s place, setting it down carefully by the door. I couldn’t leave it in the cold overnight. Frank had once spent an entire afternoon explaining the importance of temperature control and guitars. It wasn’t good to leave them in the cold. If anything happened to Frank’s guitar there was no way he wouldn’t take it personally.  
“Get your ass in the shower.” Bert scolded playfully, running his fingers through my hair. “Your hair has too much product in it to dye it like this.”  
He disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the faint sound of the shower turning on. I slid out of my coat and shoes and pulled my shirt over my head. Bert appeared in the bathroom doorway with a cigarette dangling from his lips.  
“C’mere.” Bert said, puffing his cigarette.  
I followed him into the bathroom and got to sliding out of my jeans.  
“So how was practice?” Bert asked, making faces in the mirror and ashing in the sink.  
“Terrible.” I grumbled, leaning against the wall. It was cold against my skin, sending goosepbumps down my arms.  
The mirror was starting to fog up with steam from the shower, but Bert didn’t turn around when he could no longer see himself. He just continued to bend over the sink and puff on his smoke.  
“Go on, get in. I won’t look.” Bert promised.  
I swallowed hard, feeling myself flush.  
“Relax, baby.” Bert cooed. “I can step out if you want.”  
“No, um, it’s fine.” I mumbled, sliding off my boxers and reaching over to adjust the temperature of the water. I stepped under the spray, feeling more comfortable in my own skin once I was behind the shower curtain.  
“So what happened?” Bert asked. There was a faint tap as Bert lowered the toilet seat and perched on top of the cover. I poked my head around the curtain and reached for his cigarette, and stole a drag.  
“You’re getting my smoke wet!” Bert grumbled. I reached out and ran my wet hand over Bert’s cheek.  
“You’re insane!” He laughed, pulling up his shirt to wipe his face off, “I should send you bleach blonde as punishment.”  
I handed the soggy cigarette back and adjusted the curtain.  
“Frank saw the hickies.” I said, wetting my hair and reaching for the shampoo.  
“Oh dear.” Bert singsonged without a single trace of genuine sympathy in his voice.  
“He looked so hurt.” I groaned, massaging soap through my hair, “What the fuck am I gonna do?”  
“You guys have been mad at each other forever at this point. What’s another night gonna do? I mean, it’s not like he’s your boyfriend or something. You didn’t do anything wrong.”  
“No but… I feel like I did something really, really wrong. I love him and I-”  
“It’s not like you actually fucked me.” Bert interrupted. “Don’t forget that part.”  
“I know but… He’s never going to believe me.” I moaned, rinsing out the soap. “So I might as well have.”  
“I’ll tell him myself.” Bert said.  
“He really doesn’t like you.” I said, shutting off the water. “Why would he listen to you?”  
A towel appeared at one end of the curtain.  
“Thanks.” I said softly, grabbing it from Bert’s hand.  
“I don’t like him either but I can be persuasive, Gee.” Bert said, “Let me talk to him at the show tomorrow. I mean, I was gonna go anyways.”  
“Okay.” I mumbled, pulling tucking the towel around my waist and pulling back the curtain.  
“Now lets fix that hair.” Bert cooed.  
Bert had set up a makeshift dying station in front of the TV in his living room. He had all the materials arranged on TV trays around a chair. The whole system sat on top of bath towels so that he didn’t get anything on the carpet. He’d put on some old black and white movie.  
“Take a seat.” He said, firing up the hair dryer.  
I did as he said, trying to focus on the movie as he worked.  
“Are you actually dying it black?” I asked suspiciously as he ran a comb through my dry hair.  
“Of course, Gee.” Bert laughed. A bowl of murky purplish-black dye appeared to my right, held by one of Bert’s gloved hands.  
“See? What else could that be?” He asked softly.  
“It looks like something you got from satan himself.” I shrugged, “But at least it’s not bleach, right?”  
“Right.” Bert agreed.  
I couldn’t really focus on the movie with Bert constantly swearing under his breath and stopping to light cigarettes. He kept laughing and saying that the dye was extremely flammable, carelessly ashing everywhere.  
  
Once I’d rinsed the dye out we curled up on the couch and put on another movie. After the opening credits he got up, returning with a bottle of black nail polish.  
“Bert, there’s something I need your advice on.” I said as he grabbed one of my hands and started polish.  
“Well, you know, I charge for that.” he chuckled.  
“No really.” I moaned.  
“Okay. Okay. What is it?” Bert said, still smiling.  
“Today at practice I had to hold a fucking sheet with lyrics on it when we running through the songs. Like, every time I looked over at Frank I fucked up on the words…”  
“It’ll be different when you have an audience in front of you.” Bert said. “You’re just overthinking it, I promise.”  
“I don’t know, dude, it was bad.” I breathed.  
“It’ll be different, I swear.” Bert promised. “When was the last time you guys played a show anyways? You just don’t remember what it’s like.”  
“Besides,” he continued, “I’ll be there. Just focus on me or something.”  
“Alright.” I nodded.  
“I’ve obviously never been through this thing you and Frankie got going, but I can assure you that you’ve been overthinking it every step of the way.” he said.  
I watched him paint in silence through the first coat.  
“Bert… what would you be doing if you weren’t with me right now?” I asked as he was getting through the second coat.  
“What do you mean?” Bert asked, brow furrowing in confusion.  
“Like, what party would you be going to? Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be out somewhere right now.” I pressed.  
“Fuck you, Gerard.” Bert grumbled, “I wouldn’t trade my time with you for anything.”  
“Sorry…” I mumbled.  
“You should be, you self-loathing piece of shit.” He muttered fondly.  
He glanced up from his work to smile at me.  
“OH FUCK!” He yelled when he looked back down at my hands.  
“What is it?!” I asked.  
“Fuck.” He laughed, “I painted your nails navy blue.”  
“No, that’s black.” I said, pulling my hand away gingerly to inspect the paint.  
“No it isn’t…” He said, tilting my hand towards the TV screen. “Fuck. Sorry. That’s definitely navy blue.”  
“Works for me.” I shrugged. “Why do you even have this color?”  
“I use it on my toes sometimes… makes my skin look paler.” he mused, “Hey, you want me to take it off and redo em black?”  
“Nah… maybe I’ll start a new trend.” I laughed, laying back on the cushions. “Does it make my hands look paler?”  
“Sure does.” Bert nodded. “Don’t get dye on my couch, motherfucker.”  
“I won’t.” I mumbled, pulling up the hood on my sweatshirt and tucking a pillow under my head.  
After that I dozed off on the couch.  
  
I woke up in the middle of the night worried about Frank.  
Bert had disappeared, probably off to his room. The TV was still on, running through a DVD title screen over and over. The sound was muted which was probably why it hadn’t woken me up sooner.  
I felt around for my phone. The screen was blindingly bright in the now dark livingroom, it hurt my eyes. I didn’t have any calls or texts from Frank which was sort of unusual. I started to panic that I had actually fucked things up with him permanently. I tried to talk the anxiety down. There wasn’t anything I could do about our situation in the middle of the night.  
I tried calling him. It rang and rang and went to voicemail.  
“Hey, it’s Gerard. I…” I hung up before I saying anything else.  
I laid on Bert’s couch for hours, running over everything we’d been through. Everything. The fights, the long nights of nightmares and uneasy sleep, the drugs, the awkward practice sessions, the doctors visits. My mind spun in anxious little circles of ‘he loves me, he loves me not’ until the sun came up.  
By the time the room was starting to get lighter I was completely wiped out and drifted back into sleep.  
  
The sun was high in the sky by the time I woke up again. It took a me a moment to realize that the smell of burning had been what lead me to stir. I sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I’d almost forgotten about the incident with the navy blue nail polish the night before but as the soft mid-winter sunlight streamed through the windows I saw that my nails were well and truly a deep, dark blue. I could hear Bert cursing in his kitchen.  
“Oh good. I was just about to wake you up.” Bert said, wandering into the room with two mugs in his hand, “I tried to make us breakfast but I almost lit my hair on fire.”  
“What did you try to make?” I laughed, accepting one of the mugs and realizing it contained coffee. I couldn’t smell it before because the burning smell overpowered everything else. I couldn’t even detect the remaining sent of hairdye from the night before.  
Bert crossed the room and pushed open one of his windows. Cold air started to flood the room, but the relief of fresh air made up for it.  
“I tried to make oatmeal. Who knew it could be so fucking hard?” Bert said, dropping onto the couch beside me.  
“It seems harder to like… light it on fire?” I mused, taking a sip of the coffee.  
“Well I made it look easy.” he boasted. “Drink that quickly. It’s already 4 and we have to get you all prettied up.  
“It’s 4?!” I coughed, almost choking on my mouthful of coffee.  
“Sure is. More like… 4:45,” Bert chuckled. “I tried to wake you up but you wouldn’t let me.”  
“Shit. Shitshitshit.” I cursed, setting the coffee down and heading for Bert’s room to find some clothes to steal. I checked my phone. Frank hadn’t tried to contact me at all, which was getting really concerning. I put my phone down and started rifling through his closet.  
Bert came into the room a moment later with my coffee in his hand.  
I was quickly lost in a whirlwind of hair, clothes and makeup. Bert was not only incredibly good at hair and makeup, he was also incredibly good at keeping me calm through all the bullshit I was feeling about Frank.  
I was sliding on my coat when Bert decided he didn’t like the shirt we’d picked out. I wanted to kill him for making us backtrack, but I couldn’t lie, going with the tight, plain black t-shirt made sense the more we argued about it. I very nearly forgot Frank’s guitar on my way out the door.  
Bert offered to drive, saying I was too distracted by my nerves to be considered legally safe to drive. I would’ve punched him if I wasn’t hugging Frank’s guitar so tightly. I held it in my lap the entire drive to the venue, which took longer than it should’ve because Bert insisted on taking back-roads instead of enduring the traffic on the highway.  
Bert dropped me off at the front of the venue and drove off in search of parking.  
All-in-all I ended up getting there about 20 minutes late, just missing the important parts of soundcheck.  
“Look who decided to fucking show up!” Ray called out, equal parts cheerful and sarcastic. I said my thanks to the staff member who checked me in and gave me a badge for the back-stage area and speed-walked across the room towards Ray, trying my best not to jostle the guitar.  
“Hey, Ray!” I echoed.  
“Where’s Frank?” He asked.  
“Um… I don’t know? He’s not picking up his phone. He’s not here?” I asked, following Ray down a hallway to the right of the stage. Our voices echoed in the huge, empty showroom. Sound techs were hauling in equipment and plugging things into the PA system.  
“You have his guitar, though? And I saw you guys leave together yesterday?” Ray pointed out. “Well yeah,” I said, “I gave him a ride home, but-”  
“I thought you guys made up?” Ray said, pointing to his neck as reference to the purple bruises all over mine.  
“Oh um well… The thing is... Frank didn’t do that.” I explained, swallowing hard and feeling myself blush.  
“When was the last time you spoke to him?” Ray asked.  
“Yesterday. We got in an argument just as I was dropping him off.” I said, “He hasn’t been answering my calls. I guess I don’t blame him, but…”  
“Fuck. Okay. Well, can you go get him?” Ray asked, pushing open the door to the green room. I followed him inside. Mikey and Bob were socializing with some other dudes who I assumed to be members of the opening act.  
“Sorry to interrupt guys,” Ray said, cutting into the conversation, “Frank is missing.”  
“He’s wasn’t with Gerard this whole time?” Bob asked, directing his gaze towards me.  
“No… why did you all just assume that?” I asked.  
“Don’t fucking start.” Ray said.  
“Fuck.” I sighed, “Um, maybe he’s just running late? I’m late to shit all the time. There was really bad traffic on the way.”  
“They got in an argument yesterday.” Ray pointed out.  
“You don’t think he’s flaking out on us, do you?” Mikey asked. “What did you guys fight about?”  
“These.” I said, pointing to my neck.  
“You mean Frank didn’t give those to you?” Mikey asked, stepping closer to me.  
“No… uh… Bert did?” I admitted.  
“You idiot.” Mikey sighed.  
“I didn’t like, hit it, okay?” I said, “I just wanted to make Frank jealous and-”  
“Fucking idiot.” Mikey repeated.  
“It’s gonna be okay.” Ray said, “Gerard was right. He could just be running late. We don’t go on for 2 hours so there’s no need to panic yet.”  
“I’m panicking.We can’t play without Frank. Goddamit, Gerard,” Bob growled, “You need to fucking fix this the second Frank gets here. I’m so done with this shit!”  
The room fell silent. Everyone was staring at me. I felt like I was going to pass out from the weight of all the emotions.  
“I didn’t mean to yell, sorry.” Bob amended, “But this has gone on for too long, man. I’d never leave you guys or anything… but this is more than I can put up with. Fix it. please.”  
“You’re right.” I nodded, staring at my shoes, “I’ll fix it as soon as he gets here.”  
“If he gets here.” Ray muttered darkly.  
“He will.” I said, dropping onto one of the couches.  
A few moments of silence later and the door opened. Everyone in the room, including the guys from the other band, who had huddled into the corner after our discussion, turned to see who it was. I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding, praying that it would be Frank walking into the room.  
Of course, fucking Bert walked in.  
“Hey guys!” Bert said cheerily, “What’d I miss?”  
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Bob asked.  
“No need to get sour, Bob.” Bert said, curling up beside me on the couch. “I just came for support.”  
“You need to leave. Gerard, tell him he needs to leave.” Ray commanded. “Frank is going to fucking flip out.”  
“I actually need to talk to that kid.” Bert said, standing up and heading towards the door, “But if you guys don’t want me in here, I get it. I’ll just go find the bar and catch up with you guys in a little bit.”  
And just as quickly as he’d come he was leaving.  
  
“What the fuck, Gerard?” Mikey asked, dropping down onto the couch beside me.  
“I need a fucking drink.” I groaned, hugging Frank’s guitar.  
“No you fucking don’t.” Mikey scolded.  
“It was just a joke.” I mumbled.  
“It’s not funny.” Mikey said, wrapping his arms around me. “Don’t fucking joke about that.”  
“Sorry, M.” I whispered, resting my head on his shoulder.  
  
The minutes passed in strange increments. The guys in the opening band disappeared to get set up. Doors had been opened and show-goers were starting to fill up the venue.  
No one wanted to leave the green room. We were all just waiting for Frank to show up.  
Bob and Mikey occupied themselves by power-calling Frank. Ray took Frank’s guitar and made sure it was in tune and working properly before putting it back in it’s case and resting it beside me.  
“If he doesn’t show up in another 20 minutes we’re going and getting him.” Ray said.  
“I didn’t drive here. Bert drove us.” I groaned.  
“I can drive us.” Ray offered.  
“We should get someone from the label to go get him.” I said. “I think it would be worse if 3 band members were missing.” I pulled Frank’s guitar into my lap to make room for Ray on the couch.  
“The label is already watching us like a hawk, Gee.” Ray hissed, “If you don’t think they’ll fucking drop us over something like this… you’re wrong.”  
I hugged Frank’s guitar. I felt like crying. The motherfucker wouldn’t pull something so shitty. Even if he fucking hated me, he loved music. He wouldn’t desert a band, no matter what.  
“Sorry…” Ray sighed, “I didn’t mean to come across like such a fucking douchebag. I’m just nervous.”  
“I know, man. It’s cool.” I said softly. I looked over at Mikey, who was stress-eating chips and hummus off the snack table the folks at the venue had laid out for us.  
The door creaked open and we all looked up again... but it was fucking Bert.  
“Still no sign of him?” Bert asked, perching on the arm of the couch beside me.  
“No.” I said, “Where the fuck could he be? Wait a second… how the fuck do you know about this?”  
“Everyone in the venue is talking about it. You want me to go check his apartment?” Bert offered. “It’ll take forever to get back here, but if he’s there it’s better that someone’s going to get him.”  
“That could work.” Ray approved.  
“Let me go track down Brian real quick before you leave.” I said.  
“Gerard, don’t drag Brian into this.” Ray scolded.  
“I want to make sure he knows about this so there aren’t any unpleasant surprises for him when we get up there without a fucking rhythm guitarist.” I groaned, “Here, Bert, can you hold Frank’s guitar?”  
“Sure thing, dude.” Bert said, pulling the guitar from my arms.  
I got up off the couch and headed for the door.  
“This is all my fault.” I grumbled.  
“You’re doing the best you can, dude.” Ray offered reassuringly.  
  
The door creaked open again and Frank walked in. I swore my heart fucking stopped for a second. He looked like absolute shit, all pale and puffy-eyed. But at least he looked like a pile of shit that had actually managed to show up.  
“Thank fuck.” Bob gasped. “Where the fuck have you been, man?” He crossed the room and pulled Frank into a hug. Mikey joined him and so did Ray. I was frozen in place, unable to join in on the group hug and the look on Frank’s face said I wasn’t welcome anyways.  
“Don’t ask.” Frank mumbled, glaring at me through the sea of arms.  
“I’m glad you’re here.” I said softly.  
“Like fuck you are.” Frank muttered darkly, pulling away from from everyone’s embraces.  
“No, really, I am.” I argued. “I was worried sick. You could’ve fucking called and said you were gonna be late.”  
“Like you would’ve fucking answered.” He shot back.  
“You and Gerard are gonna have to talk this out before we go on.” Bob said, resting a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “This ends tonight.”  
“I’m not fucking talking to Gerard right now.” Frank barked, shuffling away from Bob’s touch. His eyes landed on Bert, “What the fuck is he doing here? Is that my guitar?”  
“I think actually, Frank and I need to talk before he talks to Gerard.” Bert said, gently setting Frank’s guitar down and getting up off the couch.  
“I have no interest in speaking to you.” Frank snapped.  
“That’s what you think.” Bert grinned, “I’ll let you punch me as hard as you want if you give me 5 minutes of your time, Frankie.”  
“I don’t want to punch you. I want you to fucking leave.” Frank chuckled. It was the scariest laugh I’d ever heard.  
“Let’s go, loverboy.” Bert said, grabbing Frank by the arm and tugging him from the room. “We’re taking this outside.”  
“Get the fuck off of me!” Frank yelled as the door swung shut behind them.  
We could all hear Frank’s echoey protests as Bert dragged him down the hall. Nobody made any movements. If I had to guess, I’d say they all felt the same way I did: too confused to know what the fuck to do.  
“What the fuck was all that about?” Bob asked. “Should I go stop them?”  
“Bert won’t hurt him.” I shrugged.  
“It’s not Frank I’m worried about,” Bob laughed. “There’s no way Bert’s strong enough to drag Frank around like that. Frank was letting him do that. He probably wanted to punch Bert after all.”  
“Frank’s pretty small…” Mikey commented. “Bert’s like-”  
“Don’t let his size fool you.” Bob interrupted.  
We all stood there silently for another moment.  
“I mean… he said he only needed 5 minutes.” Ray commented, glancing down at his watch. “I’ll keep the time, but what are we gonna do if they’re fighting out there. It won’t have made any difference if Frank showed up tonight or not if he has a broken arm. ”  
The door creaked open and for the umpteenth time that night, everyone in the room fell silent and looked towards the door.  
“Uh, hey guys.” Some unfamiliar guy said, poking his head through the door, “You guys are on in like, 15 minutes. Are you ready?”  
“Fuck… I’ll go get Frank.” Bob said, turning to glare at me. “But you guys are fixing this after the show.”  
“Yeah. We’re ready.” Ray nodded to the stagehand.  
Just as the door swung closed, it swung open again. Frank stormed back into the room, without Bert and without any distinguishable injuries.  
“Can I talk to Gerard alone for a minute.” He announced, staring at the ground, breathing heavy.  
“Sure… but we’re on in like 15 minutes dude. Get tuned up okay?” Ray said.  
Frank nodded as everyone crowded out of the room leaving us completely alone together. I swallowed hard, realizing that I was actually terrified of being alone with him, what with the murderous look on his face and all.  
“So um, first of all,” He started softly, all previous traces of anger missing from his voice, “Never let that fucking psycho touch my guitar ever again. Do you understand that?”  
“Yes.” I whispered, frozen in place. His eyes focused on something behind me as he took a few steps towards me. He ran a hand through his messy hair as a thin smile widened his lips.  
“Second of all… Bert McCracken?” He asked, “Bert fucking McCracken? Really? What the fuck does he have that I don’t? If you’re gonna rebound on me like that at least pick someone better than me.”  
He took another step forward.  
“I don’t know if you would’ve been able to find someone better, honestly.” He laughed, “You didn’t go for Bert because he’s better than me. You picked him because you knew it would piss me off. There’s nothing he has that I don’t, Gerard. You probably even thought about me when you were with him, didn’t you?”  
“Frank, we didn’t-”  
“Shut the fuck up. I’m not done.” He snapped lightly, taking another step forward and finally meeting my gaze. The anger was still missing from his voice. I knew it was in there somewhere. It had to be.  
“Listen Gerard Way,” He sighed, “there isn’t a soul on this Earth who can do to you… what I can do to you. And before you try to tell me I’m wrong about that, I’ll remind you that those are your words, not mine.”  
“Before you try to tell me you don’t want to be with me,” he continued, “I’ll remind you that if anyone in the fucking world were to google us, what they’d find is that you fucking belong to me. You wrote it yourself. Dozens of times.”  
“I drive you fucking crazy. I know I do.” He insisted, reaching up a hand and stroking my jawline, “I make you freeze up. I make you forget the words to your own fucking songs… and you fucking love it. You fucking love me and I fucking love you back.”  
“All I need from you is...” He said, dropping his hand.  
“Guys, we really need to go,” Ray’s voice interrupted, mincing the vibes in the room into tiny little pieces. I glanced down, not having remembered grabbing the front of Frank’s jacket. I pulled my hand away and slid it into my pocket. Leaning to the side to peer around Frank, I saw Ray standing there with his guitar in his hand.  
“I fucking knew Frank wouldn’t have gotten his guitar out yet.” Ray sighed. “Shoulda put money on it… I already made sure it’s in tune and everything, dude. You’ll have to check it again once we’re up on stage though.”  
Frank ripped his jacket off and pulled his guitar out of it’s case, sliding the strap over his head.  
“Sorry to interrupt like that,” Ray said, as we filed down the hallway towards the stage door, “If there weren’t like y’know, a couple thousand people waiting on us I would’ve let you guys hang out in there all night.”  
“I’ll forgive you eventually.” Frank chuckled, reaching for my hand, lacing our fingers together.  
“You better not forget the fucking words out there.” Frank whispered in my ear before pulling me through the door.


	24. Frankie Loses It

There was the usual rush of pre-show-adrenaline as Frank pulled me through the stage door. It was kind of like being forcefully submerged under water. All the sounds my brain had peripherally been picking up on were muted by the roar of the crowd. I couldn’t hold anything in my head. My mouth went dry.  
I was a few steps away from hitting the stage when I saw Bert standing just out of the crowd’s line of sight. He had a mic in his hand and was staring at me with a devilish grin.  
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Frank said harshly against my ear. The neck of his guitar bumped my arm. I could barely hear him over the sound of the show-goers at the end of the stage.  
“I don’t know.” I said honestly, making eye contact with Ray who was staring at me with a confused frown. A sound tech was shoving a battery pack in my back pocket and handing me a cordless mic.  
“He’s not gonna sabotage the show or anything, let’s just go with it!” I yelled over the roar.  
“Gerard, there are representatives from the fucking label here. I am not fucking around with this.” Ray argued loudly.  
“I don’t care, Ray!” I yelled back.  
Ray stared at me in disbelief. He looked as shocked as I felt. Bob rolled his eyes. Mikey raised his eyebrows. Frank scowled. The emotions hit their faces one after the other like dominos.  
“I haven’t cared for awhile!” I continued, “I know you guys hate him, but the kids out there will be stoked… now, are we gonna play a show or not?”  
I glanced over at Bert. He was still grinning at us impatiently, waving a twitchy hand, beckoning us to shut the fuck up and get out on the stage.  
“He knows all the words and I…. well, y’know!” I added, glancing at my bandmates who all nodded back at me apprehensively. Well, Frank was still scowling but I was out of time to do anything to fix it before we went on.  
I turned on my heels and headed for the stage, grabbing Bert’s arm. The sounds from the crowd picked up as I stepped into the lights. I felt a flash of heat rush through me. I brought the microphone to my mouth:  
“NEW! JERSEY!” I drawled, making the most guttural sound my throat could produce.  
The yells from the crowd were deafening.  
I heard the crunch of Ray’s guitar. Bob ticked on the hi-hat to count us off… and the amps began to explode with sound.  
Of course, Bert had been right all along. I stared into the crowd, screaming the lyrics without even thinking about them. I turned to Bert to shoot him a grateful grin. He’d picked out his own complimenting harmonies and screamed the lyrics back at me. I found myself grinning uncontrollably as we circled each other in the center of the stage, screaming at each other.  
As Ray’s guitar solo flooded in, I glanced over Bert’s shoulder at Frank. His guitar dangled off his shoulders, swaying around in his arms. He played his guitar frantically, strumming out the sharp rhythms. His lips hovered an inch from the mic in front of him. His eyes were on me. As we made eye contact I lost my breath.  
I’d never seen him look so pissed off but it fit with what the rest of his body was doing. He looked more like a moody, punk rhythm guitarist with a taste for blood than an angry, confused, sort-of-ex-but-sort-of-current-boyfriend. My mind flooded with everything that had made me fall in love with him in the first place.  
He was _so mad_ at me. I could see it all over his face. The murderous look he tossed at Bert made me smile. Whatever specifics had Frank angry... they were nothing I couldn’t fix. Nothing we couldn’t eventually work out. Because he loved me. He’d said so.  
All of the sudden Bert was pulling my arm, snapping me back into reality. We finished the final chorus, looking into each other’s eyes, challenging each other to see who could scream the lyrics louder.  
“New Jersey!” I panted into the mic as the guitar tones of the first song were fading. “We’re My Chemical Romance.”  
The crowd screamed back at me.  
“Does this guy look familiar to you? Has anyone lost _a child_?” I asked. I turned to look at Bert, who was already completely covered sweat. Voices in the crowd were screaming Bert’s name.  
“I’ve never seen him before in my fucking life.” I laughed into the mic, shrugging.  
Bert grinned back at me and stuck up his middle finger.  
“We’re so glad to be here. Thanks for having us.” I drawled as Bob ticked off the timing for the next song. And just like that we exploded into the next two songs.  
The rest of the show blurred together in a similar fashion. Bert and I hung off each other. My voice was hoarse. I was dripping with sweat; I could feel my makeup running and my hair limping. It was so hot I wanted tear all my clothes off.  
The show had been going great, I realized. I’d remembered all the words. We hadn’t done anything that would piss off our label. The way Ray was expertly shredding through his solos made me want to cry. Frank was rolling around on the stage with no regard for himself or his instrument… or anyone else. Bob glared at Frank the one time he’d almost pushed one of his cymbals over but mostly kept his face stoic as he drove the rhythm for the rest of us. Mikey picked a spot somewhat behind Ray to avoid the wrath of Frank’s frantic playing. The crowd was eating us up.  
During Ray’s guitar solo of our final song, Bert leaned in and kissed me as hard as he could. I was too dazed to kiss back, and also too high from the rush of everything to protest and shove him off. The crowd fucking loved it. Just as Bert was starting to pull away from me I pulled him back in and kissed him again. _For the fans_ , I thought to myself. The crowd went _insane._  
Bob banged out the final drum fill and tossed his drum sticks into the crowd. I watched as the the drum sticks disappeared into the sea of sweaty, yelling show-goers. I felt a hand on my arm and turned to find Bert grinning at me. He pulled me along with the rest of the band. We all filed out stage-left and huddled together backstage. We only had to wait a few moments before we would go back on for an encore. The wall of sound coming off of the kids in the showroom was deafening.  
“I hate you.” Frank growled, glaring at Bert. “I just… fucking hate you.”  
“Why?” Bert asked innocently, grinning at Frank.  
I was vaguely aware of Ray, Mikey and Bob gravitating away from us to avoid getting caught in the crossfire.  
“What the fuck **_was that?_** ” Frank yelled, taking a step towards Bert, “You said you’d back off if I-”  
“ **You** could’ve kissed him up there, y’know?” Bert interrupted. “Nobody would’ve stopped you.”  
“You know why I didn’t!” Frank yelled.  
“No, I don’t.” Bert challenged.  
“God, I need a fucking cigarette.” Frank huffed.“Smoking is prohibited within the venue, sir.” A passing sound engineer reminded.  
An unholy growl escaped Frank’s mouth as he glared at the sound engineer. The sound engineer looked terrified. He probably wasn’t wrong to be afraid, either.  
“You’ll be thanking me later, Frankie.” Bert said, shoving Frank. He stumbled back and bumped into me.  
Frank lunged for Bert then. His tattooed fist shot right for Bert’s face. Bert leaned back; his face split into an evil grin as he barely avoided the punch. I reached for the back of Frank’s sweat-soaked shirt, pulling him back towards me. I tried to wrap my arms around him to stop him. It was harder than it should’ve been, between the guitar hanging around his neck and the blows he was throwing at the air.  
“Frank! Quit it!” I yelled, finally getting a good grip on him. He stopped trying to fight Bert and instead tried to free himself from my arms. I only hugged him tighter.  
“Gerard, let go of me!” He commanded. “I can fucking handle myself!”  
“Not until you calm down.” I said, pressing my lips against the hair behind his ear.  
With another shove he broke free of me, spinning around to glare at me.  
“Fuck you. _Both of you_.” He growled, storming off towards the rest of the band. Three pairs of eyes stared back at me. Mikey looked amused. Ray looked pissed. Bob just looked bored.  
“What the fuck did you say to him before the show?” I asked, turning to Bert.  
“Ask Frankie.” Bert laughed, blotting at his sweaty face with a towel one of the stagehands had given him. “Go play your encore. I’m throwing you an afterparty and I have to go finalize some details.”  
“Bert, you-”  
“Shut up.” Bert interrupted, waving me off. “Go.”  
The crowd was still going crazy. I turned back towards the stage. Ray, Bob, Mikey and Frank all hovered just out of the view of the crowd, anxious to get back out there and play. I stepped past them and into the lights. The buzz of the crowd picked up as we all got in position to play a few more.  
Bob counted off on his cymbals, leading us into a song I knew everyone wanted to hear. The sweaty fans raged on as we played.  
  
I turned to Frank at some point during our last song. He was on the ground again, playing out his moody rhythms and staring up at the ceiling. He bit his lip as he strummed violently on his guitar, writhing on the dirty floor. His eyes darted up over to me. He looked away when our eyes met. I almost forgot the words then. Almost.  
I spun on my heels, wishing Bert was still there to scream my own lyrics back at me. I carried on, gazing out into the crowd. The song was coming to an end, the guitars were dissipating into spacey noises.  
...And then there was this horrible sound erupting from the sound system. I spun around in search of the source of the sound. Ray and Mikey were still playing, but they were both staring in Frank’s direction. I turned my gaze towards Frank…  
Frank had ripped his guitar from his shoulders and was lifting it over his head and smashing it against the stage, over and over and over again. He dropped to his knees and continued smashing away. Knobs were flying off, skittering away and hitting chunks of the finish that had broken off. The bridge was just barely hanging on. All of the strings had broken and curled into mangled distortions of themselves.  
The guitar hadn’t been in bad shape. It was one of the guitars Frank was still really in love with. He’d been mad at me for letting Bert touch it before the show, even. Now it lay in broken pieces on Frank’s side of the stage. It looked as if someone had detonated a tiny bomb inside of it and blown it into a million pieces.  
I wondered if Frank had broken some kind of world record for guitar smashing. The pieces lay all around his feet. He just stood there inspecting his work as the crowd kept screaming. Watching him take all of his anger out on the thing he loved most was always sort of amazing. It was almost terrifying too, knowing I’d likely be the one dealing with that anger later.  
“Goodnight.” I mumbled into the mic, having almost forgotten where I was for a moment. I let the mic drop onto the stage and followed Ray and Mikey off, stage-left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally looked up from writing this update and said to myself, "it's 2015. why am i still writing frerard?"
> 
> on that note, happy new year. ha.
> 
> -m


	25. The Worst Boyfriend In The History of Boyfriends

An uncomfortable silence followed the band back into the green room. It was normal for us to be quiet right after a show. Performing live could be very draining, especially when we hadn’t done it a while. The silence hanging over the room seemed to have very little to do with the performance. It was less of a silence and more of an elephant in the room. A frank-shaped elephant hugging an empty guitar case in silence on the couch. He glanced down at the case with a blank look on his face.  
My thoughts were going a mile a minute. I felt myself deflate as the adrenaline of performing wore off. With the post-show exhaustion starting to kick in all I could think about was 5 minutes to myself for a quiet, reviving cigarette. My ears were ringing. My clothes were completely soaked with sweat which had me shivering in the cool of the green room. I peeled off the black button-down I’d been wearing and traded it out for a t-shirt and sweatshirt I’d stashed in my bag.I turned my gaze to Mikey, shooting him a desperate, ‘help me’ look. He jerked his head in Frank’s direction as he slid on his coat. Bob and Ray had already pulled on their coats and were headed for the door. Mikey turned and followed closely behind them, mumbling something about going to meet the fans. The sound of the door opening and then closing behind them was incredibly loud in the silence of the room. Suddenly we were alone.  
I took a deep breath and turned back towards Frank, crossing the room and dropping onto the couch across from him. He continued to stare down at his guitar case blankly. Echos of the voices of show staff echoed in the hallway outside, gently drifting under the door and into the room.  
“Frank?” I prompted softly.  
He leaned back against the couch, shoving his hand in the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulling out his pack of smokes. He placed a cigarette between his lips and left it hanging there, unlit, while he carefully moved the guitar case to the couch-cushion beside him.  
He pulled a lighter out, and lit the end of his cigarette, inhaling deeply as the flames burned their way up the paper. I knew I was staring but Frank made smoking cigarettes look good in a way that somebody probably should’ve figured out how to bottle and sell.  
“That sound tech might have something to say if he found you smoking in here.” I commented.  
Frank snorted, choking on the drag of smoke he was inhaling. A wide smile spread across his lips as he finally looked up at me. The emotions in his face were the complete opposite of everything I was feeling. He looked calm and sure of himself.  
“Did you see the way that tech _looked_ at me?” he asked, smiling fondly.  
“He was fucking terrified of you.” I agreed, offering a small smile.  
“He could’ve beaten me up if he wanted to, easily...” he sighed, glancing down at his cigarette for a moment before stretching out his arm and flicking ash on the floor. He looked back up at me, expression vacant, eyes fixed.  
I had no fucking clue what he was thinking. Bert had obviously said something to Frank before the show. It sounded like they’d made an agreement of some kind. And Frank had said I belonged to him, that he needed something from me... I had so many questions I was too overwhelmed to know where to start.  
“I don’t hate you.” Frank said softly, puffing on his cigarette again, “I’m sorry I said that. I shouldn’t say shit like that to you.”  
“It’s fine, I-” I faltered, mouth working quicker than my brain, “Bert has a way of getting to people.”  
“Yeah,” Frank agreed morosely, ashing on the floor again, “He’s certainly _gotten to you_ , alright.”  
“Frank, I didn’t fuck him. I swear.” I said. It came out sounding more defensive than I wanted it to.  
“I know you didn’t.” he replied calmly. “He told me before the show.”  
“He told you? Then why-”  
“I don’t want to talk about Bert.” he interrupted firmly, lifting himself off the couch. He dropped the cigarette to the cement floor and crushed it under his scuffed sneaker. I felt myself tense up as he made a motion towards me.  
I closed my eyes, as he moved closure. I felt the couch cushions beside me dip as Frank sat down beside me. I opened my eyes as he was resting his head on my shoulder. Our arms brushed as he shifted his weight towards me. I felt my heartbeat quicken as he let out a long, slow exhale. I held completely still, heart pounding, not wanting to wreck the moment by pushing things along faster than we were ready for them.  
I stared straight ahead at the empty couch across from us. Frank’s guitar case still rested against the cushions. A thin haze of smoke drifted in the air around the couch.  
“I’m sad about my guitar.” Frank sighed.  
“Yeah?” I asked.  
“Yeah.” He repeated. “I wasn’t done loving that one yet.”  
“Why did you smash it then?” I asked rhetorically.  
“Heat of the moment, I guess?” he said.  
“We’ll get you a new one.” I promised.  
“Do you have any idea how much custom work I had done on that one?” he scoffed, “And the place I got the work done closed down. It’ll never be the same.”  
“Well… we’ll just have to get you a better one, then.” I amended.  
I felt his hand lay gently on my arm. I glanced down at his tattooed fingers, snaking around my sleeve and squeezing gently. I shifted my weight, leaning into him ever so slightly.  
“Frank?” I asked softly.  
“Gerard?” he echoed.  
I glanced over at the top of his head. His hair was still damp with sweat, making it stick up in clumps in ways it didn’t normally.  
All the unsaid things between us collected in my chest. First and foremost, I wanted to kiss him. It had been so long since we’d kissed. It took everything out of me not to just grab him and kiss him on the ugly couch until my lips hurt.  
His face tilted up towards mine. He blinked up at me with vacant eyes. The dark circles looked so much darker and menacing from close up.  
“Can we go back to your place after this?” I asked. I wasn’t sure where I found the bravery as I slid my hand over the hand he still had wrapped around my arm.  
“What makes you think I’m going home with you tonight?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“Well, I just thought…” I trailed off, swallowing hard and sitting up straighter. I felt a blush creep up on my cheeks.  
“I’m taking you on a date first...” he said, shifting himself away from me so that he could speak to me face to face. Having his full attention with nowhere to hide made me nervous.  
“Um, _what?_ ” I asked.  
“I’m not going home with you until we go on a real date. Just you and me. Complete with hand holding and all the other corny shit you like.” he explained.  
“Like... right now?” I breathed.  
“While I appreciate your enthusiasm,” he grinned, “Brian’s making us go to that stupid fucking party your _boyfriend_ is throwing.”  
“So? We’ll stay long enough to say hello to everyone and go out after.” I said, ignoring the ‘boyfriend’ comment.  
“Not tonight, Gee.” he sighed, reaching out gently squeezing my arm. “But soon. I promise.”  
“We’ve spent the night together plenty of times together without doing anything.” I tried.  
“Real date first. That’s final.” Frank countered.  
I bit my lip in thought and tried to think of some other convincing argument to get him to spend the night with me.  
“The party could be our first date?” I suggested.  
“I am not spending our first date anywhere near Bert McCracken!” He scoffed, letting go of my arm and running a hand through his hair, “Fuck that.”  
“Alright, well where are you gonna take me then?” I asked.  
“I’m not telling you!” He said, “It’s a surprise…”  
“If it’s a surprise how will I know what to wear?”  
“I don’t actually want it to be a surprise… cause that makes it sound like it’s going to be more exciting than it is and I don’t wanna disappoint you on our first date.” he mused. “Disappointing you is definitely something I’m saving for our fifth or sixth date… then hopefully I’ll have had the chance to show you that I’m worth your trouble, in spite of how bad I am at showing up to anything on time… Or taking romantic queues… Or actually ever making decisions about what I want to order at a restaurant… Or-”  
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.” I commented.  
“Well yeah,” He said, voice rising in pitch, “I mean it’s… you. You’re not just anyone. You’re… _**you.**_ ”  
“I’m… me?” I asked slowly, “What the fuck does that even mean?”  
“Well you’re Gerard... but you’re also Gerard Way.” He explained.  
“I’m not following.” I said, shaking my head.  
“I just don’t want to fuck things up with you...” he said softly, “Ever again.”  
And suddenly it felt too serious. This wasn’t the place or time to be having such a conversation, not that there had been or would ever be a better time and place to discuss the feelings we weren’t legally supposed to entertain.  
“...This could be our first date?” I said with a grin, trying to break the tension between us.  
“This?” He asked, furrowing his brow.  
“Yeah. This moment. It’s kind of like a date? We’re alone, aren’t we?” I offered.  
“Sort of.” He nodded. “But you know someone’s gonna come through that door any minute and ruin it...”  
As if the universe had some reason it wanted to get back at Frank, it was at that moment the door opened with a loud squeak. I quickly pulled my arm away and Frank scooted over a little so we weren’t sitting so close.  
“Gerard? Frank?” Ray’s apprehensive voice asked.  
Frank and I exchanged a look of ‘oh-it’s-just-Ray’ relief.  
“Yeah?” I said, turning my gaze toward the door.  
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything…” Ray called out apprehensively.  
“We were just fucking actually.” Frank offered sarcastically, “Can’t you tell?”  
“Oh well… They sent me to get you guys…” Ray said, keeping his eyes on the floor like he wasn’t sure if Frank was joking or not, “Most of the equipment is all packed up so we can leave for the party now.”  
There was a myriad of sexually-explicit, sarcastic comments spilling from Frank’s mouth as he shrugged into his coat and followed Ray to his car, carrying his empty guitar case under his arm. Bob and Mikey had taken Bob’s car, which left Frank and I with Ray. I felt sorry for Ray. Frank was totally and completely subjecting Ray to his bad mood and Ray had done nothing to deserve it. It still nice to see Frank the way I remembered him: enjoying nothing more than making innocent people uncomfortable.  
Frank and I climbed into the back seat and sat side-by-side. We were just barely touching and yet somehow it was enough to make me incredibly nervous.  
“No messing around in my car.” Ray whined as he started the car.  
“We won’t get anything on your seats, I promise.” Frank teased.  
My breath caught in my throat. Whatever Ray spat back at Frank was lost on me. It was too weird, too much, too quick. They were being too casual about Frank and I being together.  
Frank and Ray started up a conversation about boring, technical guitar stuff after that and the joke about Frank and I in the back seat was forgotten by both of them. I couldn’t stop thinking about it though. I wanted to be alone with Frank. True, I wanted to mess up some back seats, but it had also just been so long since we were alone together. I had no interest in going to a party at all, not when the only person I wanted to go home with wouldn’t be going home with me until I went on some bullshit ‘real date’ with them.  
I stared out the window, watching the cars fly past as Ray pulled the car off the expressway. I was silently cataloging places that might be open late. There had to be somewhere I could take Frank after the party. There were arcades and bars all over Jersey but none of them seemed right. It was too cold to go for a walk on the waterfront and make out on the beach. Frank would tease me endlessly for picking something so cheesy anyways. Frank tangled our fingers together, stroking gentle stripes onto the back of my hand as if he could tell what I was thinking.  
“You okay?” He whispered against my ear when Ray was in the middle of trying to describe the custom pedal-board of some band he’d seen recently.  
I nodded silently, keeping my eyes on the cars and houses and buildings drifting past.  
“You sure?” He pressed, squeezing my hand gently.  
“Yeah.” I said softly, “I’m sure.”  
He leaned against me and ghosted his lips over my cheek. I bit my lip and squeezed his hand gently.  
Ray had stopped talking and turned on the radio. I was really only half-aware of the transition as Frank buried his face in the crook of my neck and sighed against my skin. His warm breath was total and complete torture. He had to know how evil it was for him to get all close to me in the dark back seat of Ray’s car where I couldn’t even **do** anything about it.  
I was about to push him off or yell at him or something when I noticed the car had stopped altogether.  
“We’re here.” Ray said, unbuckling his belt and sliding out of the front seat. He stretched out and closed the door behind him, heading towards the bar without waiting up for us. I assumed it was an effort to give us a moment alone, bless his heart.  
Frank lifted his head up but made no motion to get out of the car. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me, and pressed a kiss into my hair. I was still damp with sweat and there was no way I smelled good, but even so it wasn’t like I wanted him to stop.  
“I don’t want to go inside…” Frank grumbled.  
“We don’t have to.” I said softly, leaning into him. “We could still ditch.”  
“Your boyfriend orchestrated this whole thing, couldn’t you have stopped him or something?” he asked.  
“I didn’t know about it,” I argued, pulling away, “and besides he’s not my-”  
“I know.” Frank interrupted, gliding his fingertips down the side of my face, _“I know.”_  
“This is probably going to be better than going to dinner with the label reps or something…” I offered, leaning into his touch, “They all know about my _writing_. And they’d just get drunk and ask us about it.”  
“No offense but… How is that worse than going to a party full of people who know about it?” Frank asked. His pretty features contorted into amused skepticism in the dim of the parking lot.  
“I’d rather deal with the looks than explain that I don’t have a public humiliation fetish to a bunch of sweaty dudes in suits.”  
“But you practically **do** have a public humiliation fetish…” he countered.  
“No I don’t!” I squeaked, “...How would you know anyways?”  
“Seriously?” He laughed, it was all breathy and low, “I know all about what you like, Gerard.”  
I think he had meant for it to be a joke, but it came out sounding like something between a threat and a promise. Whatever the intended meaning, I had no rebuttal prepared. The tension we’d been pretending to ignore flooded the back seat of the car, seizing the breath in my lungs.  
Frank leaned forward slowly until our faces were inches apart. His familiar warm breath flooded my senses, making me feel incredibly dizzy. I was so sure he was going to kiss me. I could practically taste him.  
Of course, it was just my luck that he pulled away, brandishing a satisfied smirk.  
“It’s not fair.” I whispered, feeling myself blush.  
“What’s not fair?” he asked softly.  
“You already know what I want.” I said, so quietly I wasn’t even sure if he could hear me, “And I know you said you had to think about it or whatever but I don’t know what you want... And I hate not knowing what you want from me.”  
“I just want you?” he offered casually, “As for the rest… you’ll just have to figure it out. _Fiction’s not really my thing._ ”  
I wanted to punch him for saying it, but it was hard to punch him when he was closing the space between us again and pulling my face towards his. I framed his face with my palms and kissed him with a little more force than I’d intended to. He made a shocked noise in the back of his throat, but didn’t seem to have any problem with it, if the way he tangled his fingers in my hair and shoved his tongue in my mouth was any indication.  
There was a great deal of fumbling as I ungracefully climbed into his lap in the cramped back seat. After practically kneeing him in the crotch I was safe in the familiarity of his arms and kissing him him hungrily. He slid his hands up the back of my shirt to drag his nails down the skin of my back and gasped into my mouth when I rocked my hips against his.  
“I promised Ray we wouldn’t get anything on his seats.” he breathed against my neck, trailing kisses all over my skin. His hands stopped roaming under my shirt and came to rest on my hips. I could feel him relaxing underneath me.  
“But Frank I _need_ you.” I begged softly, trying not to let the desperation come through in my voice.  
“It would be awful rude for us to skip the party they’re throwing you just to mess up Ray’s nice leather seats, don’t ya think?” He asked, pecking my cheek, gently, “Then _everyone_ would hate us.”  
“But-” I protested weakly as he tried to slide out from underneath me. “But then why-”  
Frank pulled the door open, letting cold air flood the car. I shivered as the heat escaped. I glanced out at the parking lot through the foggy windows, blushing as I realized how quickly Ray would jump to conclusions if he saw the foggy windows. Frank wiggled the rest of the way out from under me and crawled out of the car.  
“Come on.” He said, reaching out his hand. I took it reluctantly and let him pull me out of the car.  
As soon as I’d closed the door behind me he pushed me up against the car and crushed our lips together. I felt a small amount of panic kissing him so out in the open, but it was hard to give a fuck when we were pressed so closely together.  
“Sorry.” He panted, wrapping his arms around my neck, “I’m just not sure when I’ll get the chance to do that again.”  
“You could do whatever you want with me after the party if you’d just fucking come home with me.” I pouted, wrapping my arms around his waist and pulling him closer.  
“No can do.” He whispered.  
“Then stop torturing me like this.” I demanded, trying to pull away.  
“Shut up. You love it.” he whispered against my ear, clinging onto me. Our lips met in a passionate kiss. He sunk his teeth into my lower lip and pulled back gently, causing just the right amount of pain. The rest of my body had no problem getting with the program.  
“I hate you.” I mumbled against his lips as I relaxed against the car.  
“No you don’t.” He teased, pressing another kiss to my lips.  
 _“Frannnnnk._ ” I groaned.  
“What?” he asked, smirking at me.  
“I’m… fucking…” I trailed off.  
“Fucking what?” He asked, pulling away from me and spinning in the direction of the bar.  
“I have a fucking boner.” I winced, “I can’t go in there like this.”  
“Just think unsexy thoughts.” He waved over his shoulder as he started walking away.  
I wanted to kill him and bring him back to life so I could kill him again.  
“Like what?” I called out, trying not to stare at his ass as he walked away.  
“Sweaty men in business suits asking about your public humiliation fetish!” He practically yelled across the parking lot.  
I glanced around to make sure no one had heard him. I swore I heard the little shit laughing as he opened the door and waltzed into the bar. I took another quick glance around the parking lot before adjusting the front of my pants and wandering into the bar myself.  
  
I didn’t know what I had been expecting. It was disorientingly warm and loud and crowded inside the place. By the time I got inside Frank had already located the rest of our band and was weaseling his way into some conversation Ray and Mikey were having with some sweaty guy in a suit.  
I glanced around the room looking for any familiar faces. Not finding any, I looked back at where Frank was standing. He waggled his eyebrows at me from across the room as someone handed him a drink. He hadn’t bothered to smooth out his hair and it was still sticking up where I’d laced my fingers through it.  
I was about to flip him off when I felt a hand on my shoulder.  
“Hey beautiful.” Bert singsonged as I turned to look at him. “What took you so long?”  
“Oh, you know. Traffic.” I shrugged.  
“You’re a bad liar.” he grinned, “But that’s okay cause so am I… Glad you’re here.”  
Bert handed me a cup of seltzer water and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, steering me in the direction of some people I ‘just had to meet.’  
The evening dragged along the way it usually did when I was out with Bert. There were a few hiccups when people came up to us asking for drugs. Most of the time Bert pretended he didn’t know what they were talking about, but there were a few times where he pulled the person aside. I usually tried to look the other way for the sake of plausible deniability.  
At some point, Brian came by to introduce us to the sweaty label reps in suits. I shook their hands and had short, forced conversations with them until they disappeared.  
I looked around for Frank or Mikey or Ray but couldn’t seem to find them anywhere. I’d seen Bob once on his way to the bathroom, but that was it. I tuned out of the conversation Bert was having with some guy he’d met on Warped tour the previous summer to look around the room again. When I didn’t see them anywhere I checked my phone. No messages. No missed calls.  
“Um, Gee?” Bert said.  
When I looked up at him the guy was gone and Bert was wearing a terrifyingly sweet smile.  
“Yeah?” I asked, sliding my phone back into my pocket.  
“So uh… I think Frankie might… be mad at me.” Bert said, biting his lip.  
“He’s always mad at you.” I shrugged.  
“No.” Bert said, shaking his head, “No, this is different.”  
“What did you do?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.  
“It’s not something I did. More like, something **_we_** did.” Bert frowned.  
“Bert, what the fuck are you talking about?” I pressed, feeling my blood run cold.  
“Well…” Bert sighed, “It’s just… it’s…”  
“Bert.” I snapped.  
“Here.” Bert said, handing me his phone. The phone was open to a photo of Bert and I together. He was kissing my cheek in the picture as I smiled gleefully at the camera. I remembered the night it was taken several weeks ago. The caption under the photo had a headline about our suspected relationship following a kiss we’d shared on stage earlier in the evening. The subheadline mentioned reports of us seen out around the city together, always in close proximity, always smiling.  
“Guess we made headlines?” He laughed, but there was no humor in his voice.  
“Fuck.” I whispered, handing the phone back to him.  
“This isn’t actually a bad thing.” Bert pointed out. “Frankie won’t see it that way… but let’s be honest here, if everyone thinks we’re together it means they’ll lay off of you two.”  
“Fuck.” I repeated. “He’s going to be so mad when he sees this...”  
“He probably hasn’t seen it yet.” Bert shrugged.  
“I don’t know... but I have to find him.” I said.  
“I’ll keep an eye out for him.” Bert nodded, “I’ll call you if I find him.”  
I started to make a round through the room, passing fake smiles whenever I made eye contact with people Bert had introduced me to. I took pride in being able to always find Frank in crowd. I thought it was because he was always the prettiest person in the room. Bert had suggested that it had more to do with how much I loved him, that I could find him anywhere because I was always looking for him in one way or another. Whatever the reason, Frank didn’t seem to be anywhere I looked. I even walked through the bar, keeping my eyes away from the bottles of alcohol as I passed through.  
My heart started to race as I wondered if he’d seen the article and decided to take off without me. He’d said we weren’t going home together after all.  
My phone started buzzing in my pocket. I pulled it out and answered it the second I saw Bert’s name on the screen.  
“Did you find him?” I asked, bring the phone to my ear.  
“Sure did.” Bert sighed. “Come out around back. Maybe bring a glass of water and… some napkins or something?”  
“Is he okay?” I asked, trying to swallow the worry in my voice.  
“I think so… just had a little too much fun it seems like.” Bert offered.  
I hung up without saying anything else.  
  
I carried a cup of water and some napkins out to the back door, sneaking through a door with an ‘employees only’ sign. There was a small dark alley behind the venue. Bert’s white suit jacket stood out in the dim. He turned when he heard the door squeak shut, shooting me a worried frown as we made eye contact. He stepped to the side, revealing the scene in front of him.  
Frank was perched on the bottom of a staircase with his head between his legs. Ray sat by Frank’s side with a hand clasped on his shoulder, staring down at him with sad, sympathetic eyes. Bob and Mikey sat on his other side, puffing their cigarettes as they stared at me with genuine curiosity.  
“What happened?” I asked, handing Ray the glass of water.  
He nudged Frank and held the cup in front of his face. Frank tried to push it away but Ray moved it away before Frank could spill it.  
“Those fuckin weirdos from the label had us all doing shots with them.” Bob said, “And Frank’s a lightweight, as you know.”  
“He also found out about that article about you and Bert.” Ray added.  
“I don’t give a shit about that.” Frank slurred, not even bothering to look up.  
“That’s not what he was saying 5 minutes ago.” Bob laughed, flicking the ash off his cigarette.  
“I’ll kill you.” Frank threatened weakly.  
Bob smirked and took another puff of his cigarette.  
We were all quiet for a moment, eyes darting between each other and Frank’s heavily breathing, crumpled form.  
“Frank…” I said softly, “About the thing with Bert-”  
“I said I don’t give a shit about it, okay?” He interrupted coldly, his voice was rough like he’d been puking.  
I bit my lip and stared down at him.  
“...Oh god, guys, I think I’m gonna puke again.” Frank groaned.  
Bert took a few steps back before Frank even started gagging. Ray held Frank’s bangs back as Frank doubled over, nearly falling over into the mess. When Frank was done dry-heaving I handed him a napkin. He accepted it wordlessly, still refusing to look up at me.  
“I lost track of you guys for like, two hours at the most.” I said, dropping onto the stair beside Frank, “What the fuck did you all even drink?”  
“I think it was tequila?” Mikey chimed in. “Freaky business dudes love tequila.”  
“And how would you know what freaky business dudes love?” Bob laughed.  
“I think the problem here,” Ray said, changing the subject, “Is that I passed all of my shots to Frank since I have to drive later. So to my knowledge he took twice as many as everyone else.”  
“Oh shit,” Bob said, “I passed him all of mine too.”  
“So Frank basically took everyone’s shots… except for Mikey’s?” Bert asked. “Why didn’t you guys pass any to Mikey?”  
“Can we please stop talking about alcohol?” Frank moaned. “It’s making me nauseous.”  
“We should get him home.” Ray said, “He needs to sleep this off if he’s gonna play again tomorrow.”  
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.” Frank muttered, glaring at Ray before leaning over and dry-heaving again.  
  
That was how I ended up in the back of Ray’s car with Frank as he challenged his earlier promise of not messing up Ray’s back seat every couple of seconds. Frank leaned his head out the window until the car pulled onto the expressway. When the whipping, icy wind got to be too much, he rested his head in my lap and closed his eyes. I tried to reach over and roll up the window without moving him too much. Once I got the window up I stroked his hair soothingly and tried to ignore how much he smelled like a mop bucket full of whiskey.  
Ray and I didn’t strike up a conversation about boring technical stuff. We didn’t talk at all. He had put something heavy-metal-influenced and guitar-heavy on the stereo and drove in silence.  
Ray stopped the car a few times along the way when we thought Frank might throw up again. Eventually we got to Frank’s apartment without messing up Ray’s nice leather interior.  
All of Frank’s previously claims that we wouldn’t be going home together were lost as I practically carried Frank up the stairs. Ray followed behind us with Frank’s empty guitar case. There was a moment of panic where Frank deliriously thought he lost his keys but eventually we got inside.  
“M gonna throw up.” Frank announced as I helped him down the hallway. I’d forgotten all about the paint fight he’d had with jamia, and wasn’t expecting to see the violent shade of red they’d used to paint the bathroom splashed across the floor. I didn’t have much time to look at it as I shoved Frank in the direction of the bathroom. He made it to the toilet with half a second to spare. I perched on the edge of the bathtub in the tiny room and stroked gentle circles on his back.  
“Oh my god!” Ray called from the other room.  
“What?” Frank choked out in between dry heaves.  
“The paint! Frank, it’s amazing!” Ray said.  
“Amazingly good waste of a deposit.” Frank laughed.  
Ray appeared in the doorway with a glass of water in his hand, pills in the other. Frank slid away from the toilet after ungracefully reaching out to flush it. He rested against the wall and looked up at us, breathing unevenly.  
“I’m literally…” He drawled, “The worst boyfriend in the history of boyfriends.”  
“That’s not true.” Ray argued, passing Frank the glass of water and the pills, “You care. That’s more than a lot of boyfriends can say.”  
Just like before, it came as a shock to me that they could talk about Frank and I so casually.  
“But I’m _so drunk…_ ” Frank slurred hoarsely, “And Gerard is just trying to stay clean. And I’m such an... **asshole.** _God, I’m such a fucking asshole._ ”  
“It’s my fault too.” Ray said, “I shouldn’t have passed you all those shots.”  
“I shouldn’t have taken them.” Frank groaned, staring down at the pills in his hand.  
“I’m the fuck-up, here.” I said, “I’m the one with the drinking problem. You guys shouldn’t have to always edit your behavior on my behalf.”  
“But I want to.” Frank said, “And I should… because _I love you._ ”  
I’m pretty sure I heard Ray make an audible ‘awww’ sound, but it was lost on me as I made eye contact with Frank. I mouthed an ‘I love you too’, feeling my heart flutter.  
“Anyways, guys, I should probably get going.” Ray said. “Gerard, you’ll take care of Frank, right?”  
I turned to look at him and nodded.  
“Frank’s case is in the kitchen. I’ll call you guys in the morning.” Ray nodded before turning on his heels and heading for the door. Frank stared at each other in silence until we heard the door closing behind Ray.  
As soon as we were alone I sunk to the floor beside Frank.  
“Do you need anything?” I asked.  
He shook his head and lowered himself onto the floor, nearly spilling his glass of water. His shirt rode up in the process, revealing the tattoos on his hips. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers over them but resorted to staring.  
“It should’ve been us.” Frank said hoarsely.  
It took me a moment to grasp what he was talking about. So much had happened in one evening, it felt like I had been out for days.  
“The article, you mean?” I asked.  
“No.” Frank laughed, throwing his arm over his face. “I don’t give a shit about internet gossip.”  
“Then what do you mean?” I pressed, running my fingers through his hair.  
“On stage. It should’ve been us.” He said hoarsely, sliding his arm away and looking up at me. His pretty eyes were red and glassy.  
“Not sure if you remember but we were on stage together for about an hour and a half earlier.” I chuckled.  
“That’s not what I meant, fuck you.” He said, fighting a smile.  
I grinned down at him and slid his sweaty bangs out of his face.  
“Gerard I’m the worst fucking boyfriend.” He repeated. “ _The worst._ ”  
“I thought you said we transcended the boyfriend shit?” I argued, not sure why I was bothering to argue with someone who’d consumed as much alcohol as Frank had.  
“We do.” he agreed, “But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m still the worst boyfriend you’ve never had.”  
Frank closed his eyes and rubbed his face against the floor. It didn’t look particularly comfortable but even so he seemed like he was ready to fall asleep. I slid onto the floor beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist. The cold tiles weren’t the most comfortable place to take a nap but it had been so long since I’d laid down that it felt nice somehow.  
“Fuck, you weren’t supposed to come home with me.” Frank mumbled drowsily.  
“I’m not leaving you like this.” I said.  
“Okay.” he sighed, nuzzling closer to me. “Thanks.”  
I thought over what Frank could’ve been talking about. If he wasn’t upset about the article, I wasn’t sure what he was upset out about.  
 _Then it hit me._ The guitar smashing, repeatedly calling Bert my boyfriend… Frank was mad that I’d kissed Bert on stage, in front of everyone, in front of the cameras.  
“It should’ve been us.” he repeated softly, driving the point home.  
"It should've been us." I agreed, hugging him close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this update is really bad. like, so bad. but i'm the captain of this motherfucking ship and i'm gonna go down with it.
> 
> posting in kind of a rush, so i'm sure there's errors. like, missing line breaks when we need line breaks, weird dyslexia-induced word choices, etc. whatever. you love me anyways.  
> -m


	26. The Spins

How far into a complete emotional breakdown are you if you find the serenity you’ve been chasing for weeks in the crook of your half-asleep, drunk best friend’s neck? Have you reached some point of no return if you don’t even care that said 'best friend' smells like a combination of sweat, tequila, ash trays, and honestly... a little bit like _puke?_  
  
Things had just been so chaotic for so long. I’d forgotten what it was like to just close my eyes and shut my brain off. I nuzzled against the warm skin of Frank’s neck and breathed him in. It wasn’t the first time I’d had a faceful of Frank’s partied-out, post-show smell. He was grosser than gross but the familiarity of it was somehow incredibly comforting.  
I could hear him wheezing from chain-smoking one too many cigarettes. His breath came soft and strained, with wordless, hissing rasps.  
There was no way that laying with his back flat against the tiles could be anywhere near comfortable. I supposed he was too drunk to notice or care. There was something innocent about the pose when you couldn’t see how bloodshot his eyes were.  
For the briefest of moments I wondered how the fuck I was going to eventually move him to his bed. I wasn’t sure if I was strong enough to lift his drunken dead weight off the bathroom floor but it seemed rude to leave him on the bathroom floor all night. Then again, if he was as drunk as I thought he was, his proximity to the toilet would maybe pay off in the long run.  
  
My ears were still ringing like crazy from the show. The unignorable buzz soundtracked the silence of Frank’s apartment. His quiet wheezing and the faint hum of the refrigerator in the other room were the only sounds. Every now and then they were interrupted by a stifled yawn escaping my lips, or the sound of water rushing through the pipes in the wall beside us.  
It was like the building around us had it’s own biorhythms. It would sigh or stretch out until it’s joints clicked. It was probably exhausted. It never got breaks from being an apartment building... just like I never got breaks from being _Gerard Way, frontman and expert instigator of drama and destruction, both digital and physical._  
“How long have we been laying here?” Frank asked hoarsely, cutting the silence.  
“Uh, I dunno... Maybe 20 minutes?” I mused, slowly pulling my face away from his neck, “Why?”  
“It feels like it’s been centuries.” He said, heaving a deep sigh. He coughed when his lungs protested against the sharp intake of breath.  
“Always a poet.” I offered sarcastically.  
“I could… write you a haiku about how my leg is falling asleep...” he slurred.  
“Yeah my arm has been asleep for awhile now.” I commiserated, letting out a breathy laugh.  
“I don’t wanna get up though...” He said.  
“Me neither.” I agreed.  
The longer I laid there, the longer I could _ignore reality._  
“You’re just so warm.” He said, trying to shift closer to me, “And you smell good.”  
“I seriously fucking doubt that.” I laughed.  
“No,” he argued, “It’s _your hair_... it’s all sweet and chemically. What did you put in it?”  
“I don’t know.” I yawned, “Bert did my hair earlier…”  
He didn’t respond to that. The residual distaste for Bert seemed to follow him, even in his alcohol-induced delirium.  
“Do you want me to start the shower? Might sober you up…” I suggested.  
He didn’t have a response to that either. I glanced up at him to see if he’d fallen asleep again. He was awake though. His brow was furrowed in confusion as he stared back at me with tired, glassy eyes.  
“I mean, I- I won’t be-” I stuttered out quickly, “I won’t be joining you.”  
“Oh… uh. Yeah. I knew that.” He said, rolling out of my arms and trying to get up.  
I had to scramble to my feet and grab him to stop him from keeling over and hitting his head against the sink.  
“Careful.” I chuckled, wrapping an arm around him helping him up. He blinked at me with a dazed look as he leaned back against the sink.  
Once it looked like he wasn’t in immediate danger of hitting his head again, I spun around and busied myself turning the knobs in the shower. The sound of the water gushing out cut the peaceful silence.  
When I turned back around, Frank was pulling his shirt off. I tried not to stare at his bare skin. I did _try._ But I just couldn’t stop my eyes from roaming over every inch of exposed flesh. He crossed his arms and shivered. I couldn't tell if the gesture was out of self-consciousness or just an attempt to keep warm.  
The colors in the tattoos on his arms contrasted vividly with the black linework on his chest. It was... fucking beautiful. Every inch of him was fucking beautiful. My breath caught in my throat as the gravity of how alone we were set in. How _in love_ we were. How alone and in love and _not kissing_ we were. As my eyes raked over his tattoos I couldn't help but think about them under the spray of the shower. They looked brighter when his skin was wet and……  
When my eyes finally met his, I offered him an awkward, lopsided smile. He'd definitely caught me staring at him. I prayed he was too drunk to really process it. Instead of saying anything about it though, he just raised an eyebrow. I couldn’t tell if he was daring me to touch him, or silently asking me to just leave the fucking room already.  
“I’d kiss you if my mouth wasn’t so gross right now.” he offered hoarsely, answering all my unasked questions.  
“It’s the thought that counts.” I offered, smiling nervously.  
Against better judgement I found myself leaning forward. He tried to flinch away but, given my sobriety, I was much quicker than him. I caught his face in my hands and pressed a careful kiss to his cheek. When I pulled away he just stared at me with the same sad, vacant, glassy eyes.  
The shower water had finally warmed and the bathroom was starting to fill up with steam.  
“Gerard, I-” he mumbled.  
“I’ll just uh… I’ll be in the other room.” I interrupted, swallowing hard and walking backwards towards the door. We stared at each other in silence as I crossed the small bathroom.  
I tore my eyes away when he lowered his hands and started on his belt buckle. I let myself out of the bathroom as quickly as possible. I had a lot of fucking self control but I didn’t have _that much_ self control.  
  
The dark hallway was several degrees cooler. The transition from steamy bathroom to dark, silent hallway helped me calm the fuck down. I leaned against the door and tried to normalize my breathing.  
He didn’t lock the door after I left, I noted. I could hear the slide of the metal shower curtain hooks against the bar they hung from. I closed my eyes and tried to not think about Frank and his stupid, perfect tattoos under the warm spray.  
After another moment of pained silence I took a deep breath and started in search of a place as far from the bathroom as possible. I wanted to leave the apartment altogether, but I’d promised Frank I wouldn’t. Of course, it wasn’t like he’d even remember I’d promised.  
I ended in the kitchen somehow. I’d just meant to pass through, but I almost had a fucking heart attack when I turned on the lights and saw the fucking paint…  
The light blue splatters coating the ceiling caught my attention first. The spray patterns reminded me of blood splatters. The floor itself was a mess of white and blue smears. The way the paint blended in some places suggested that there had been something of a struggle. The fridge had a few white handprints smeared onto the front. The cabinets, the stove, and the microwave all had flecks of blue and yellow speckling across their surfaces. There was one big, angry splash of dark green across the counter top. The green trailed it's way to the edges of the counter and even spilled into the sink.  
I ran my fingers over the cold, smooth green paint. I expected to find the color on my fingertips when I pulled my hand away but the paint was completely dry.  
I got a glass of water from the incredibly colorful sink and sat on the floor in the middle of the kitchen, admiring the mess. I tried to pick out which splatters were Jamia’s doing and which ones were Frank’s.  
A few loud thuds echoed from the bathroom as Frank… dropped shampoo bottles, presumably? I briefly considered getting up to investigate. The last thing I needed was my rhythm guitarist drunkenly slipping and cracking his skull open on his bathroom tiles. Spending all night in the hospital was the last thing I wanted to do after the way my day had gone.  
After the way the last few _weeks_ had gone.  
It hadn’t occurred to me until then that I’d left him without a change of clothes. There was no way I was letting him put the clothes he’d been wearing back on. I wasn’t even sure if there had been a towel in the bathroom. I quickly got to my feet and made my way to Frank’s room to find something for him to wear.  
It had been a little while since I’d been in Frank’s room. Now that the post-show exhaustion had really settled in, the sight of his bed made the thought of sleep incredibly appealing. Especially the thought of sleep in Frank’s bed.  
I found myself bitterly considering the way our evening could’ve gone. How we could’ve spent a longer time kissing in the back of Ray’s car, or left the party together and gone back to his place and kissed in the shower until the water ran cold. We could've made love on the paint splattered kitchen floor and fallen asleep on his couch. The alternatives were endless.  
The sight of his bed suddenly only served to sadden me. If we couldn’t get concert halls and afterparties right, how would we ever get a date right? And if we couldn’t get a date right, how would we ever get a relationship right?  
I grabbed the first clean clothing-items I could find and turned on my heels to find wherever it was that Frank kept extra towels...  
I ended up walking right into Frank and almost knocking him over. An inhuman squeak of terror escaped his lips as he stumbled backwards, clutching the towel around his waist. He quickly recovered and shot me a confused look.  
“Sorry, I was just about to bring you these.” I said, shoving the clean clothes into his arms and stepping past him.  
“I’m gonna shower off and um… crash on the couch.” I continued, feeling myself blush as I walked further away from him, “Let me know if you need anything. Glass of water. Cup of sugar…”  
“Gerard, wait.” He commanded.  
I spun around and faced him, keeping my eyes above his waist-level. If I looked down I’d be so screwed. The color had returned to his cheeks some. His eyes were still tired and glassy, but there was an alertness to them.  
“What?” I asked.  
“Just wait a second.” He said evenly, “You don’t have to crash on the couch, if you don’t want. You could-”  
“What happened to the whole ‘date first’ thing?” I interrupted.  
“I take it back.” he said, “What difference does one night make anyways?”  
“If we’re going to do this, I want to do it right.” I insisted, “Wasn’t that your thought-process, anyways?”  
“I mean I guess, but...” He shrugged, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes, “At the show you told Ray you don’t care about any of this anymore and now we’re alone and all of a sudden you care again?”  
“It’s not that.” I shot back.  
“Then what is it?” Frank asked, letting the pile of clothes he’d been holding fall to the ground, “What _the fuck_ is your hang up this time?”  
It was hard to take anything he said seriously when he was slurring his speech, completely naked and dripping wet.  
“You’re drunk. We can talk about this in the morning.” I sighed.  
“I just want to wake up next to you.” Frank countered, “I wanted that before I got drunk. Don’t act like you don’t already know that.”  
“Okay. Fine.” I huffed stubbornly, turning back towards the bathroom.  
  
The post-show shower was my undoing. The countless hours of sweat and cigarette smoke slid off of my skin. I could breathe easier.  
I was alarmed at first when I glanced down and saw that the water circling the drain was a greyish brown, then I remembered I’d dyed my hair the night before. When I glanced down at myself I could see the bleeding dye running down my pale chest.  
I leaned against the cool tiles and ran my hands all over myself to wipe away the dye. I don’t know if it was my bad day or the idea that Frank had been completely naked in the same shower just moments before but my hand ended up on my dick.  
Frank’s words before the show flooded my brain as I bit back a sigh.  
  
 _“You fucking **belong to me.** You wrote it yourself.”_  
  
It seemed wrong on about eight hundred different levels to be touching myself in Frank’s shower. The door wasn’t even locked. But somehow the thought of how wrong it was only served to turn me on more. I bit back a groan as I gave myself a committal squeeze.  
I let my mind slip into thoughts of Frank: his lips at my neck, the way he’d pushed me against Ray’s car earlier, his unholy moans, and the slide of his cock against my hip that one time we’d...  
I didn’t realize how loud I was panting until I heard it echoing in my ears. I immediately felt myself blush. If Frank had heard it would be so… _fucking awkward._  
I could hear his rebuttal in my head, half joking, half sincere, _“Oh, you won’t fuck me but you’ll jack off in my shower?”_  
I was too far along to stop though. I bit hard into my lower lip to reduce the heated whimpers. I should’ve just invited Frank into the shower with me. He probably would’ve happily given me a hand. Literally. The thought of Frank’s um, _assistance_ was enough to make me lose my cool. I let out a loud, pleasured sigh as I came all over my hand.  
I rinsed myself off under the spray as I tried to even out my breathing. My body was buzzing with adrenaline. It was like I was overly aware of every inch of myself. The warm water running over my chest was a stark contrast to the cool tiles against my back. I felt light and heavy at the same time. Empty and full.  
I shut off the water and listened, standing perfectly still as the droplets of water rolled down my spine. There was no sound coming from beyond the door to the bathroom.  
On shaky legs, I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel off the rack. In my rush to get clothes for Frank, I hadn’t grabbed anything for myself - not that anything of his would fit me really. There was no way I was putting my clothes from the show back on. I quickly dried off and wrapped the towel around my waist.  
The apartment beyond the bathroom was dark, silent and a little chilly. Frank’s chances of hearing me were greater if he’d been so quiet. I nervously tiptoed towards his room, feeling myself blush like crazy.  
I breathed easier once I’d crept through the doorway and found him passed out on his bed. He’d managed to get a pair of boxers on before he’d crashed and burned. He still had his damp towel draped over his shoulders.  
I tiptoed over to his laundry basket and picked up what felt like a shirt. I was much more comfortable after I’d pulled on a sweatshirt and pair of his shorts. My mind was still buzzing with everything, but my body had finally given up. I felt heavy and weak.  
I sauntered back over towards the bed and carefully pulled the wet towel off of Frank. He twitched in his sleep but didn’t seem to wake.  
Before crawling over him to crash out beside him, I gave it a second thought. Instead of joining him, I leaned over, pecked his cheek, pulled a blanket over him, and started my silent journey towards the couch.  
The couch seemed a thousand times more comfortable than normal. Though, that was probably just the exhaustion talking. I pulled a small blanket over my shoulders and buried my face in the smell of Frank’s sweatshirt. I blacked out with buzzing ears and a buzzing heart. Not even my racing thoughts could keep me awake.  
~  
  
When I opened my eyes, light was streaming in through the windows. I squeezed my eyes shut against the glow of the morning sun.  
Everything hurt. Every muscle. Every joint. It didn’t even make sense to feel pain in some of the places I felt pain.  
It was typical to feel this way the morning after performing as hard as I had. What wasn’t typical was the immense weight on my chest. When I tried to stretch out my arms, I found I couldn’t really. It didn’t take me long to realize it wasn’t a pillow-sized weight, but rather a Frank-sized weight.  
I should’ve known. Between Frank’s nightmares and his proclivity towards alcohol-induced insomnia, there was no way he would’ve slept through the night.  
It was actually... ridiculously sweet. I’d fucking missed waking up like that. I wrapped my arms around him and breathed him in. He smelled like laundry and shampoo and _Frank_. I ran my fingers through his hair and listened to his slow breathing.  
It seemed like an hour or so of laying there had passed. Stiffly laying under the dead weight of my small rhythm guitarist quickly grew uncomfortable and on top of that, I seriously had to pee.  
“Frank.” I whispered, nudging him gently.  
A tiny, helpless sound escaped his lips, but instead of waking up he just shifted in my arms and wrapped himself around me in a way that was much harder to escape.  
“Frankie.” I tried again, running my fingers through his hair. “I gotta get up.”  
“No.” He groaned, nuzzling his face against my side.  
“Please Frank.” I whined. “I gotta-”  
“Why are we even on the fucking couch?” He interrupted weakly.  
“ **I** slept on the couch because **I** was trying to respect your wishes.” I explained.  
“My wishes?” he laughed breathily.  
“You said I couldn’t come home with you.” I pointed out.  
“Yeah well… clearly you didn’t listen.” He yawned, “So you shoulda just slept in my bed while you were busy… _disrespecting my wishes or whatever._ You fucking nerd.”  
“You were drunk. How the fuck was I supposed to know if you’d be cool with it or not?” I sighed, trying to wrestle my way out from under him.  
“Gerard. I’m never gonna not be cool with this.” he said, hugging me tighter.  
“You seemed pretty adamant about it yesterday.” I grumbled, finally freeing myself of his drowsy constraints and sliding off the couch. I landed on the floor with a loud thud. Every muscle protested against all the sudden movement.  
“Come back.” he whined, rolling over and nuzzling against the space on the cushions where I’d been laying. Having fallen asleep with his hair still wet, it was sticking up all over the place. His eyes were still puffy and red. He still looked completely wrecked.  
“ _Date first._ ” I offered in a mocking tone.  
“Hey don’t be like that.” Frank cooed, “I’m way too hungover for this.”  
“Exactly,” I sighed, lifting myself off of the floor, “You’re hungover. Not drunk, anymore. And I’m not even supposed to be here.”  
“Wait a minute… are you leaving?” he asked incredulously.  
“Well yeah…” I shrugged, taking a few steps away from the couch. I hadn’t had any intentions of leaving, but I liked making him think I was planning on it.  
“Gerard… you don’t have anywhere to be today. Get back here _right now._ ” he demanded, raising his hand and weakly attempting to grab at me.  
“Yeah, but you have somewhere to be today.” I said.  
“Where the fuck do I have to be?” Frank complained.  
“Did you forget the part where you smashed your guitar last night?” I asked.  
“I have other ones.” He countered, “And even if I didn’t, you could go to the music store with me anyways. We could _make a date of it._ Two birds. One stone. ”  
“Romantic.” I laughed.  
“Shut up! I’d serenade you after... on the beach or something.” he grumbled, grabbing a pillow and weakly tossing it in my direction.  
“You know it’s Winter, right?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.  
“What the fuck do you want, then?” Frank asked, “You want me to take you to dinner like a _nice Italian gentlemen?_ Or do you want to go to a show together so we can play tonsil hockey in the mosh pit? What if I pick you up in my car and take you for a late-night drive to make out point?”  
I quickly realized he was describing scenarios from my fics. A blush crept over my cheeks as he smirked at me.  
“Fuck you.” I gasped.  
“Date first.” He sighed, rolling his eyes.  
I spun on my heels and headed for the bathroom where I’d left my sweatshirt from the night before. After relieving my unnaturally full bladder, I dug my sweatshirt out from under the rest of my dirty clothes and pulled it over the sweatshirt of Frank’s I was already wearing. It was far from clean, but it would have to do until I got home.  
“Are you gonna fucking walk home?” Frank asked incredulously from his spot on the couch.  
“Uh… yeah. I guess?” I called out, voice echoing against the bathroom walls. “I could take the bus, too.”  
“It’s winter, remember?” He chuckled, “At least let me give you a ride.”  
“Can you even drive?” I asked.  
“Probably shouldn’t.” he admitted. His voice no longer sounded so far away.  
I turned to find him leaning against the bathroom door, staring at me with a small smile.  
“Take a nap with me.” he said softly.  
“Frank-”  
“We can argue all you want once I’ve had a few more hours of sleep.” he interrupted.  
“I don’t want to argue with you.” I countered, shaking my head.  
“Liar.” Frank tutted, grabbing my arm and leading me towards his room. I followed helplessly, biting my lip in apprehension.  
“You fucking love arguing with me.” he said as we passed through the doorway. He let go as he dropped down onto the bed.  
I pulled my second sweatshirt off and laid down beside him. The way he was looking at me made it hard to breathe. I stared back at him helplessly as he grabbed the edge of the blankets and slung them over me with his arm.  
“When I woke up without you next to me, I thought I’d really fucked up.” He said softly, pulling me closer.  
“I’m surprised you even remember that far into the night.” I said, feeling my heart thud in my chest. I wasn’t sure why getting so close made me so nervous. We were lying face-to-face. Our faces were inches apart. Was it freaking him out that our faces were inches apart?  
“Most of the stuff I remember about last night is about you.” he said slowly.  
“Can I ask you something?” I asked, trying to focus on a poster on the wall behind him instead of on his lips or his pretty, tired eyes.  
“Anything.” He said.  
“Well, like, what did Bert say to you…?” I asked, swallowing hard, “Yknow, before the show?”  
“Oh.” Frank breathed, “ ** _That…_** Well, basically…”  
He paused and laid back on the pillows.  
“He said...” Frank tried again, closing his eyes and furrowing his brow, “He said if I didn’t get my shit together he’d go after you himself… And that if you didn’t want him, he’d make a point to find someone you did want…”  
He linked our fingers together under the blankets and started to stroke the back of my hand with his thumb as he talked.  
“That was why he kissed you during our set, I’m guessing?” He continued, “He was trying to make a point.”  
“Oh.” I mumbled.  
“My turn to ask a question.” Frank said, turning his head to glance over at me.  
“Uh. Sure.” I nodded.  
“Last night, before the show, I told you I loved you and you didn’t say it back…” he explained, “And so I was wondering if you still…”  
“I couldn’t say anything. You told me to shut up.” I offered defensively. He must’ve not remembered the drunken ‘I love you’s we’d shared in the bathroom later on in the night. I couldn’t blame him for that.  
“Oh. So you… don’t then? Or you do?” He asked nervously.  
“Do what?” I teased.  
“You’re really gonna make me say it out loud?” He sighed.  
I nodded.  
“Do you still love me?” He asked.  
“I still love you.” I said, feeling my heart flutter like crazy.  
He brought my hand up to his mouth and placed a single gentle kiss on the back.  
  
“Can I ask another question?” I asked.  
He nodded, lips grazing over my skin.  
“Would any of this had ever happened if I hadn’t fucked everything up so much?”  
“What do you mean?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“If I hadn’t written all that, and then gotten it exposed, and then relapsed, and then made you think I was with Bert… would we be laying here together right now?”  
“How can you ask me something like that? That was so many ‘and’s.” Frank groaned.  
“I don’t know, but I’m still asking.” I argued, “ _Be honest._ Would you have ever fucking noticed that I liked you if things hadn’t happened this way?”  
“ **No.”** he offered simply. “No, I don’t think I would have noticed. But I have a question. Would you have ever have just _fucking told me how you felt like a normal person?”_  
I didn’t have a rebuttal prepared for that one.  
“ ** _Be honest._** ” He mocked, “Because I read what you wrote. You wrote like, hundreds of thousands of words about us instead of just telling me. How long did all of that even take you? Months? Years? Do you have any idea how many chances you had to tell me how you felt? Do you know how many times we were alone together? Where you could have just-”  
“That was more than one question.” I interrupted, feeling myself blush like crazy, “And besides, are you really trying to tell me you would’ve just been cool with it if I got you alone and said I’d read something about you getting turned into a vampire and sucking my blood? And that I couldn’t stop thinking about you sucking on my neck after that? Would you have really been cool with that? Because If memory serves you _fucking flipped_ out when you found out about all of this.”  
What we were doing was far from taking a nap. We were both sitting up in the bed now, glaring at each other.  
“I admit I may have panicked a little…” Frank said slowly.  
“A little.” I repeated sarcastically.  
“Okay. I flipped out.” Frank agreed, “But you could’ve done things differently too.”  
“Why would I want to?” I asked, “ _I have you now!_ I just wanted to know if I could’ve had you any other way... And I think you’ve answered my question...”  
I stared down at my hands and tried not to think about the awful silence. I didn’t wanna know what expression Frank’s face was even making.  
….  
.  
…..  
..  
…..  
“I feel like an asshole for not noticing, Gerard. I really do.” Frank said softly, after what felt like an eternity. “But I don’t even know how the fuck I’m supposed to make it up to you? All I can think to do is just make sure I’m the best fucking boyfriend you’ve ever had... but I’m not even sure if that’s gonna give you the closure you need.”  
“You need someone like Bert,” He continued, “Who wants to show you off to everyone instead of cowering behind a guitar. You deserve that someone. And I fucking want to be that someone, but with the label and everything… I don’t know. We wouldn’t just be letting each other down. We’d be letting the band down. And Brian. And the label… Everything we worked for.”  
“I know.” I sighed, keeping my head down.  
“I just… I want both, yknow?” He asked. “Why can’t I be with you and keep our band too? Bob’s cool with it. Ray’s cool with it. And you know Mikey doesn’t give a shit...”  
“We’ll figure something out.” I shrugged. “I’m fine with sneaking around for now…”  
I couldn’t bring myself to look up at Frank, even when he fell silent again.  
…  
.  
.  
….  
.  
  
“I want to kiss you right now.” he said eventually, sliding his fingers under my chin and tilting my head up, “But I’m afraid to…”  
“Why?” I asked, staring into his tired, brown eyes.  
“Cause if I start, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.” He said softly.  
“I’ll make sure you stop.” I promised.  
It wasn’t a lie but it was definitely an empty promise. I leaned forward and pressed my lips firmly against Frank’s. He kissed back carefully, sweetly, tangling his hands in my hair and pulling me closer.  
It wasn’t until his lips parted that I really understood Frank’s concerns. Now that we’d started, I had no interest in stopping. His lips were so soft and warm. His breath, sweet. His hands, careful.  
“I thought you said you’d stop me.” Frank gasped, pulling away.  
“I…. Um. Sorry.” I breathed.  
“Oh god,” He whispered, flopping back against the pillows, “The room’s spinning and I have no idea if it’s you or the hangover.”  
I curled up beside him and wrapped an arm around his middle.  
“Probably both.” He said softly.  
“You should try and sleep this off, Frankie.” I said, feeling incredibly awkward.  
“Mmm, alright.” He hummed, “Just promise you won’t try to leave again.”  
“I’m clearly not qualified to make promises right now.” I said, hugging him tighter.  
He let out a breathy laugh, and that was it before he drifted off to sleep.  
~  
  
After few hours of laying beside Frank in his dark bedroom while he slept off the worst of his hangover I was itching for a cup of coffee. Once I was sure he was asleep, I got up in the interest of making myself a cup, only to find that Frank was completely out of coffee. He’d told me not to leave, but I was going to be useless for the show later if I didn’t start caffeinating.  
I puttered around his kitchen for a little while, looking for anything that might have caffeine in it. Black tea bags. Energy drinks in the fridge. _Anything._  
The colors of the paint splatter were much more magnificent in the daylight.  
  
I fished my phone out of the pocket of my jeans, laying on the floor in the bathroom and called Mikey.  
He picked up by the time I’d wandered back into the colorful massacre that was Frank’s kitchen.  
“Mikey.” I hissed, not waiting for him to say anything, “I need your help.”  
“With what?” He asked. It sounded like he was eating something. I could hear little muffled crunches on his end of the call.  
“I need you to bring coffee over to Frank’s place.” I said.  
“I have no interest in watching you guys make out.” He offered indifferently.  
“First of all, we’re not making out. He’s asleep.” I huffed, “Second of all, **_please._** ”  
“How does Frank like his coffee?” Mikey sighed.  
“Um, I can’t remember but I think he might be too hungover for coffee…” I trailed off.  
“I’m not too hungover for coffee.” Frank said from across the room, startling the crap out of me.  
“I heard that. He says he’s not too hungover for coffee.” Mikey said. “The fuck are you calling me for? Go get coffee with your boyfriend. And bring some to the venue with you later.”  
“But-” I started.  
“Don’t be late for soundcheck.” Mikey interrupted, dropping the call.  
I spun around to face Frank, who was still in just his boxers, as he got himself a glass of water and swallowed some pills for what I imagined to be a killer headache.  
“I’m never drinking again.” He groaned as he leaned against the sink.  
“Oh, it can’t be that bad.” I scoffed.  
“I’m fairly certain you know exactly how bad this feels.” Frank offered back, raising an eyebrow.  
“ _Coffeeeee._ ” I groaned, ignoring his comment. “Coffee fixes everything.”  
“Fine.” He sighed, “I’ll go get dressed.”  
~  
  
We ended up in line at a bustling cafe down the street from Frank’s apartment building. Frank had a murderous frown on his face as he stared at the back of the room where a mother was doing little to control her shrieking toddler. I probably would’ve been afraid of the look in his eyes if they weren’t concealed by his ridiculous giant sunglasses.  
I’d ended up borrowing some of his clothes. The pair of black jeans he’d lent me were almost impossibly tight. I’d had trouble even getting them on. I felt ridiculous and over-exposed. The large pair of sunglasses he’d given me weren’t doing much to make me feel like I was blending in.  
Frank had grabbed my arm without really thinking when we’d stepped into the place. The small, thoughtless gesture made me smile.  
We probably looked ridiculous standing there in line, like two hungover, vogue vampires in love.  
I ordered us two drip coffees. Frank grabbed both of the cups as the barista slid them across the counter. He was halfway to the door when he realized I wasn’t following him.  
“What is it, Gee?” He asked.  
“Wait, Frank, there’s a table over there, you wanna sit for a minute?” I asked, nodding my head in the direction of a small table by a fireplace.  
“Not particularly. Why? Do you?” He frowned.  
“Uh. Yeah… I do.” I said, “But I mean if you don’t…”  
“No. Oh god. You’re trying to turn this into a date and I’m already fucking it up.” He groaned.  
“It’s not a big deal. We can just go.” I sighed, taking one of the cups from his hands.  
“No, Gerard.” He protested, grabbing my arm and leading me towards the table, “I’d fucking love to.”  
How were people supposed to act on first dates? What kinds of things were they supposed to talk about? I was suddenly dreading the moments that followed as Frank sat down across from me and smiled.  
In my experience, first dates were always awkward. My first date with Frank was no exception.  
I reached across the table to grab his hand and quickly recoiled it, deciding it wasn’t an appropriate move. Frank’s head snapped in the direction of the toddler as it started shrieking again.  
“Shit, so uh, how is this supposed to go?” He asked, turning back to face me.  
“I don’t know.” I sighed. “I guess we should just like… make small talk and if you think the things I say are cool you’re supposed to… kiss me goodbye… or something?”  
“I feel kind of on the spot. I can’t think of what to talk about. Oh God… I suck at this.” He whined, crossing his arms on top of the table and burying his face in them.  
“Why do you like me, again?” He moaned into the fabric of his coat.  
“Here uh...Talk about guitars.” I offered. “What do you like about them? When did you start playing? What was your first-”  
“I don’t want to talk about me.” Frank interrupted, popping his head up to frown at me, “You’re not supposed to talk about yourself on a first date. I’m not a fucking asshole.”  
“Right. Well… I guess I won’t talk about me either, then.” I mumbled. “What about the show last night?”  
“I was there. You were there. You made out with Bert in front of everyone. Ray shredded. I smashed my favorite guitar. Everyone loved it. Next topic...” He shot out, rolling his eyes.  
“This isn’t working,” I moaned, “What if we’re just not supposed to… do this? Maybe that’s what the universe is telling us.”  
“That’s bullshit and you know it.” Frank laughed, “I’m hungover and you’re over-stressed and this is a busy cafe with screaming children. This place isn’t exactly oozing with romantic vibes.”  
“That stuff shouldn’t matter though, Frank.” I argued dejectedly.  
“Time out.” Frank smirked, “This place just sucks. I want our first date to be more romantic than this, Gee, come on. Let’s get out of here.”  
“Alright.” I nodded, grabbing my coffee cup and following Frank out of the cafe.  
“I should take you back to your apartment now anyways.” Frank said, fumbling in his pocket for his keys, “So you can get ready for tonight… But once the show’s over there’s somewhere I’m gonna take you. No fucking after-parties. No Bert McCracken. No screaming children… Just you and me and...”  
“I still think we could count whatever that was back there as our first date…” I said, falling in stride with him. “It sucked, but it still counts.”  
“I’m not fucking counting it.” Frank mumbled as his lips curled up into a small smile. He took an experimental sip of his coffee to check the temperature and rubbed his hands together to around his coffee cup.  
“I’d hold your hand if it wasn’t so fucking cold.” He groaned as we made our way through the parking lot towards his car.  
“If this isn’t a date why would you want to hold my hand anyway?” I asked. I grimaced as I realized too late that my words had come out way more bitter than joking.  
“Goddammit, Gerard...” Frank groaned, stepping in front of me and staring up at me with a pained expression.  
“I was just joking.” I shrugged.  
“No you weren’t.” He countered, reaching out and grabbing my hand and tugging me towards his car moodily, “I feel like I’m going to spend the rest of my fucking life trying to convince you I like you.”  
I smiled and allowed myself to be pulled along. It was nice to just follow his lead. He seemed to find my apprehension endearing, but I wasn’t sure how long that would last. I was just... so afraid of fucking anything up between us that I couldn’t always trust myself to do things like reach for his hand or ask him to follow me to bed.  
He seemed so much more sure of us than I was, which seemed sort of backwards when I thought about it.  
I’d been the one who wanted it in the first place, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not updating for 3 months...   
> i'll save you the boring/////depressing explanation. B) 
> 
> -m


	27. Dead Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was long overdue... sorry abt that. hope this ~11k word update makes up for some of that. only 3 or 4 updates to go on this fic before it's dusted. as always, thanks for reading. yr support means a lot. xoxoxoxoxo

The drive from our miserable first date to my apartment was quiet. Frank had insisted on driving, in spite of his hangover, which left him moody and brooding. My brain was in some sort of awful purgatory between exhaustion and pre-show jitters, which left me with little to talk about. If the silence between us bothered Frank, he didn’t say so.  
Sometimes I had bad days, sometimes Frank had bad days. On bad days, the silence was like an unspoken agreement between us. After everything we’d been through over the years, we were too comfortable to need to fill the gaps with small talk.  
We were both having a bad day, I realized, after the fifth or sixth time I stole a glance over at him. He still looked partied-out and exhausted, though some of the color had returned to his cheeks. His hair was still a messy dark nest and on top of that. He sort of needed to shave, but the stubble only made him look hotter. His blue jeans were wrinkled and coffee stained. He chewed on his lip as he focused on the road in front of him.  
Every time the car rolled to a stop at a traffic light, he would turn his head and smile at me. And every time, I would shoot him a small nervous smile. It almost felt more like a nervous tick than an intended gesture. It was like neither of us could get comfortable with the idea of being comfortable together.  
But sometimes Frank’s hand would slide off the steering wheel and end up on top of my hand. For a split second I could let it all go, but not for more than a split second. If I let myself get comfortable I was going to end up forgetting how to hide it.  
  
I found myself nervous when the car rolled to a stop in the parking lot outside of my apartment complex. The feeling only grew as I stepped out of the car into the cold, early afternoon. My brain had been through the same panic dozens of times. I felt my heart skip when Frank grabbed my hand and lead us towards the building.  
Would it be totally out of line to shove him down onto my couch and take advantage of him the second we got inside? Part of me felt like it would only be natural to indulge such a compulsion. He was hungover and my nerves were shot, and he’d been the one to say orgasms fixed everything after all.  
The eventuality of intimacy between us was killing me. We technically still had a few hours to kill before we had to leave for the show... I needed to get myself presentable but that still left plenty of time for _other things._  
It was impossible to tell if any of this had even crossed Frank’s mind just by looking at the back of his head as he pulled me up the stairs. I held my breath as I pulled out my keys and unlocked my front door. I could feel his proximity to me like a phantom limb.  
  
As soon as I shouldered the door open, Frank pushed past me and dropped onto my couch, still bundled up in his winter overclothes.  
“What are you-?” I started to ask.  
“This hangover isn’t going to fix itself.” He offered sarcastically, pulling a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket and pushing them onto his face, “I feel like dying. Please put me out of my misery.”  
“Can I get you anything?” I asked, leaning against the back of the couch and gazing down at him.  
“No… just go pretty yourself up.” Frank yawned, nuzzling against the couch cushions, “Unless you’re feeling _violent,_ in which case...”  
“What do you mean?” I asked, swallowing hard.  
“I dunno. Sometimes you show up covered in blood instead of hairspray...” Frank said, smiling fondly.  
“But I don’t wanna cover myself in blood if we’re going out later...” I mumbled, feeling myself blush. I could see a distorted version of myself in the reflection of his sunglasses and I absolutely hated it.  
“I was thinking we could stop by my place and shower off after the show... so it doesn’t matter if you wanna get gorey.” Frank shrugged, “But if you put blood on then I have to put blood on too or else I won’t be able to touch you without everyone knowing…”  
“It would be sort of an interesting metaphor, I guess?” he continued, lowering his sunglasses on his nose to gaze up at me with his tired, pretty eyes, “You know, _blood on my hands..._ But I’m too hungover for that, Gee.”  
“You were the one who suggested blood in the first place.” I scoffed.  
“Well, yeah. Blood makes you happy.” he argued, “And you seem kinda, I dunno, tense today… Maybe blood would help?”  
I could think of plenty remedies for the tension I was feeling… and blood certainly wasn’t one of them. I wanted to tell him I was going to lose my fucking mind if he didn’t fucking kiss me soon but there was no trace of a dare in his eyes. The look he was giving me was sleepy and content, absent of any invitation to straddle him.  
“...I don’t like the way it stains my skin.” I sighed weakly, trying to ignore the ache.  
“Hairspray it is then.” Frank grinned, pushing the sunglasses back over his eyes and slinging an arm over his face.  
There was no way the tension was all in my head. Every inch of me was still buzzing with it. I had no idea how he was acting so chill.  
“There’s probably a comfortable way to sleep with sunglasses on. I’m going to figure out what it is…” He mumbled to himself as he rolled over onto his side.  
He still hadn’t even bothered to take off his shoes or winter coat. His untouched coffee cup sat on the coffee table in front of him, getting colder by the moment. Frank had to be really sick if he wasn’t even touching his coffee. I decided the unreciprocated lust had more to do with his hangover than anything else. I still left the room feeling insecure and unkissable.  
I thought about offering to let him crash out on my bed while I got ready, but I was quickly grateful I hadn’t offered. A small pile of t-shirts formed on my bed in my efforts to find something that would make me feel kissable. Burying the person I wanted to kiss under a large pile of garments that made me feel unkissable seemed sort of counterproductive.  
While I was struggling to pick something out of the existing pile, Ray texted me to confirm the setlist for the show later, asking if Frank was cool with it, too. It was weird he knew we were still hanging out. My brain still hadn’t adjusted to the idea that it was okay for Ray to know we were hanging out. I wasn’t comfortable being comfortable. I didn’t bother waking Frank up to ask because I already knew he’d say he didn’t give a fuck as long as the last song we played was heavy.  
Whatever I wore would be so sweat-soaked it wouldn’t matter how it looked in the end. I never felt kissable when I was sweat-drenched anyways. I grabbed a black t-shirt off the top of the pile and pulled it over my shoulders without turning it right-side out.  
I found a package of blood capsules in my makeup box and slid them into my back pocket. As long as I didn’t forget about them and sit on them and terrify everyone with my bloody ass, they’d turn out to be the extra bit of flare the show needed.  
  
Frank rose from the dead an hour or so later when I was fussing with my hair in front of the bathroom mirror.  
“Your shirt’s inside out…” He commented in a raspy voice as he floated into the bathroom and leaned against the wall behind me. I glared at his reflection in the mirror. He had shed his winter layers at some point during his sleep. The sunglasses remained. His hair was somehow messier than before. The wild mess had flattened where his head had been resting on the arm of the couch.  
“It’s supposed to be inside out...” I intoned, rubbing styling gel into my hair.  
“Oh... _Right.”_ He smirked.  
“Does it look dumb or something?” I asked nervously, scrunching up my nose as I glared at myself in the mirror.  
“No.” He said, shaking his head, “That’s not what I meant.”  
“Should I change?” I asked.  
“No.” He insisted. “You look great.”  
“Well, like, I’d thought about wearing-”  
My response died in my throat as I watched Frank pull his t-shirt up over his head. It took me a moment to figure out what the hell he was doing. He fumbled with the garment in his hands for a few seconds before he put it back on inside-out.  
“See?” He said, pulling at his collar as he looked himself over in the mirror, “It looks cool...”  
“You didn’t have to do that…” I trailed off weakly.  
“Yes I did. Or else you’d change your shirt another twenty times and we’d be late for soundcheck.” He smirked, “And if we’re late for soundcheck after the shit I pulled last night, Ray will fucking strangle us... or, _me,_ anyways…”  
“Where were you before the show yesterday, anyways?” I asked, following behind him as he floated out of the bathroom.  
“Oh uh. I don’t know?” He mumbled, ghosting down the hallway.  
“What do you mean you don’t know?” I laughed nervously, grabbing my coat off the back of the couch and pulling it over my shoulders.  
“I uh… Well, okay, so, after I thought you’d like... um... _fucked_ Bert or whatever… I kinda freaked out and got really drunk. Like, _way too drunk...”_ He explained, pulling on his own coat.  
“Oh.” I mumbled, feeling an immense pang of guilt.  
“I guess I even called Jamia and she came over and we like… _talked..._ for like, hours and hours, apparently. She’s a fucking angel because I don’t remember any of that…” He laughed.  
“When I woke the next day, I was hungover and still… _really fucking mad at you._ And I just like, wanted you to like…” He paused to swallow hard, “I just wanted you to realize you needed me or something... so I wanted you to think I wasn’t gonna show up. I wasn’t really thinking straight. It was fucking stupid and childish. I know that now...”  
He reached for my scarf and handed it to me.  
“I’m really sorry, Gerard. That was really fucked up of me.” He huffed, brushing his bangs out of his face.  
“I’m sorry too...” I said softly, “I shouldn’t have made you think that Bert and I…”  
“Water under the bridge, right?” He interrupted. “Anyways we really have to be on time tonight. Ray’s letting me borrow one of his guitars so we have to be on time for sound check...”  
I nodded and followed him out the door, trying to figure out if there was anything left in the world I could do to prove to Frank that I needed him.  
  
Frank turned the radio on as soon as we got back into the car. The silence that had settled between us on the drive earlier in the day was hidden under a layer of music we both hated. As the car pulled onto the interstate, I was still trying to wrap my head around the idea that Frank could possibly think I didn’t need him. It was absurd. I’d alway need him. He’d always be my friend. He’d always be my rhythm guitarist. That level of insecurity made no fucking sense to me. The passing billboards and exit signs offered me no answers, neither did the awful music that was playing.  
As Frank pulled the car off at the exit for the venue, I realized we hadn’t discussed going inside the venue together. Mikey had been able to see it so easily. It felt like everyone else would be able to look at us and just _know._ It would be obvious we’d been together all day if we walked into the venue at the same time. It would be almost as obvious that something was up if we showed up at different times. It was normal for band members to show up at a venue at the same time, I told myself.  
Frank seemed oblivious to our impending doom. He was way more interested in finding a parking space close the venue. He mumbled under his breath as he backed the car into a tight space.  
“Ready to go?” He asked as he killed the engine and opened the door.  
“Wait.” I insisted, trying to convey my confusion and lust and fear all in one furrowed brow.  
“We were supposed to be there like three minutes ago, Gee.” Frank grumbled, “Ray is going to use his guitar to make a coat out of my skin if we don’t get inside right now. He’ll tie you down with amp cables and make you watch if he knows you had something to do with this. What could we _possibly_ be waiting for?”  
“Well like, are you sure it’s cool for us to show up together?” I asked timidly.  
“You can’t be serious.” Frank laughed.  
“But I am, Frank.” I countered, “Brian’s gonna be in there, isn’t he? ...I don’t think we should be seen together.”  
“Now that you’ve finally got me, you don’t want to be seen with me. I see how it is.” Frank teased, sliding out of the car.  
I opened the passenger-side door to chase after him, totally smacking the door against the car parked in the next stall over with a loud bang. There was a small dent and an accompanying, telltale scrape of paint. I made sure nobody was looking before slamming the car door and booking it after Frank.  
“Quit being so melodramatic. Nobody fucking cares about us, Gerard. I fucking promise you that.” Frank sighed, linking our arms together as I fell into step beside him.  
“Easy enough for you to say...” I mumbled.  
The sun was starting to sink on the horizon, turning the sky a dim yellow shade that reflected against the sea of parked cars. The music venue loomed in the distance. A few tour busses curled around the back of the building. In the distance I could see an LED banner, scrolling the venue’s list of shows.  
  
 **PRESENTING: MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE ----- 2 NIGHTS IN NJ** flashed across the screen.  
“You know something? It’s not my fault everyone knows you want me...” Frank laughed, squeezing my arm.  
“That’s not funny, Frank.” I moaned, feeling my cheeks burn, and tugging my arm away, “That is the opposite of funny.”  
“Jamia says I should be flattered...” Frank mused, still smirking, “And I think she’s right. So uh, I guess I ought to be thanking you right now...”  
“Why does Jamia have _anything_ to say about this?” I groaned. “And why on Earth would you be thanking me?”  
“For writing so much _porn_ about me.” He mumbled under his breath. “Everyone’s gonna think-”  
“It’s not porn! It’s art!” I snapped, not sure if I could blush any harder.  
“First of all, PORN _IS_ ART!” He yelled, like we were engaged in some kind of twisted rendition of ‘the penis game.’ He paused to smirk at me for dramatic effect. “You taught me that.” He continued, “And anyways, secondly-”  
  
 _“Well this relationship got weird fast...”_ a voice interrupted, startling the shit out of both of us. We both took a step away from one another as quickly as possible. I craned my neck to find Bob staring at me. If we were going to hide an entire relationship we were going to have to learn how to not look so guilty before anyone had even accused us of anything.  
“Ray told me to come out here and look for you guys...” Bob went on, puffing on his cigarette, “I only agreed because I wanted to get the fuck away from him. I didn’t think I’d actually find you out here.”  
“Oh well, Gerard and I were just working some things out...” Frank laughed.  
“You know Ray wants to kill you both, right?” Bob asked with a small smile, matching our pace as we all slumped towards the entrance.  
“Yeah.” Frank sighed, “I wanna kill us too. Well, mostly Gerard actually. He’s making things weirder than they already have to be…”  
“Am not!” I snapped.  
“Okay. Well, Bob’s here now so we can be seen entering the building together.” Frank offered, in a voice dripping with bitterness and sarcasm, “Because the fact that we both play in the same band and said band has been booked to play here in a few hours obviously wasn’t enough of a justification for you…”  
“Well when you put it like that…” I trailed off, as Frank threaded his arm through mine again.  
“I stand by my previous statement... You guys are weird together.” Bob mumbled, flicking the end of his cigarette against a parked car.  
  
  
The glare that Ray shot in our direction once we were in his line of vision would have made the devil himself tremble. After Frank’s previous commentary, his guitar just looked like a really expensive, hyper-customized murder weapon. He had just plugged it in and was working with the guitar techs to test out the PA system.  
“Found them.” Bob called across the empty concert hall. His voice echoed off of the high ceilings.  
“How nice of you to show up!” Ray offered in a cheery, sarcastic tone. “Frank, would you come help me check the monitors?”  
“Sure, Ray.” Frank supplied, floating off towards the stage.  
“Come on… Mikey’s in the green room.” Bob said, nodding his head away from the stage.  
I glanced back at Frank as he ungracefully crawled up onto the stage instead of taking the stairs to the side. Ray just stared at him like an annoyed parent.  
“Your boyfriend’s not going anywhere, dude.” Bob mumbled, “Come on.”  
“Don’t call him my…” I paused to glance around the empty venue space. A bored-looking sound tech manned the board at the back of the giant room.  
“Uh, yeah.” Bob agreed, even though no one had asked a question.  
I followed Bob down a long, industrially lit hallway to the green room. The backstage portion of the venue looked a lot more like a hospital than I remembered, even though I’d been there less than 24 hours before.  
“You forgot to bring me coffee.” Mikey said, the second I walked into the green room.  
“Mikey, there’s a coffee machine right there.” I said, pointing towards the well-loved old coffee machine on the table with the rest of the hospitality the venue had laid out.  
“All they have is folgers.” Mikey groaned.  
“I’m sorry… I forgot.” I shrugged.  
“You _forgot_ or you… were _busy_?” Mikey asked, narrowing his eyes.  
“...Both?” I offered weakly.  
“Gross, Gee.” Mikey scowled, “Just gross…”  
“Wait a minute,” I said, sliding out of my coat, and collapsing onto one of the couches in the room,“Was ‘busy’ a euphemism for-”“Bob, tell Gerard he’s gross.” Mikey whined, dramatically dropping onto the couch beside me.  
“Sorry, what?” Bob asked, “I wasn’t listening.”  
Mikey let out a noise somewhere between a sigh and an angsty groan, pulling out his phone and typing out a text. I glanced over at Bob for help, only to find that he had dropped onto the couch across from us and was also enveloped in texting.  
The thing about soundcheck was that we had to be early to the venue, but after a few moments of working with the sound engineers, we had _hours_ to kill. And those hours always crawled by as slowly as possible. Frank wandered into the room a few minutes later, dropping his coat onto the back of the couch Bob was sitting on, partially covering Bob’s face.  
“How come you didn’t remind Gerard to get me coffee?” Mikey asked as soon as he looked up and saw Frank.  
“Uh… wait, what? Since when is that my job?” Frank scoffed.  
“Since you were with him all day.” Mikey explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Just always assume Gerard is supposed to bring me coffee.”  
“Ok. Whatever.” Frank shrugged, “Anyways… Do you guys know what’s up with Ray besides… well…”  
“He’s just stressed out about those executives hanging around Brian, I think?” Bob said, “He really wants to go on tour.”  
“Do you really think they’d really decide against booking a tour?” Mikey scoffed.  
“I’ve heard they’re really cracking down on bands that party a lot.” Bob said, “But we’ve got our shit together, _mostly,_ so I don’t know what he’s so worried about. He’s just a tense guy I guess?”  
“He needs to chill. He’s stressing **_me_** out.” Frank groaned sitting down beside Bob and resting his head on Bob’s shoulder. Bob side-eyed him suspiciously but didn’t move away.  
“What the fuck do _you_ have to be stressed out about?” Bob asked, reaching out a hand blindly flicking at Frank’s face, “You’re like, the only one of us that’s getting laid.”  
“Bob!” Mikey squeaked  
“Yeah. Uh, well…” Frank trailed off, smiling and blushing. His gaze wandered all around the room. Anywhere that wasn’t me.  
“I need a cigarette.” I said, shooting up and pulling on Mikey’s arm.  
Mikey continued to scroll through his phone, pretending he’d been ignoring me completely.  
“Mikey.” I hissed, feeling the room get stiflingly awkward. Mikey let out a sigh and slowly lifted himself off the couch like it was the most physically difficult task anyone had ever requested of him.  
Bob and Frank were completely silent as I dragged Mikey over to the fire exit and out into the cold without even stopping to put my coat on.  
  
“This thing with you and Frank is going over really well with everyone else...” Mikey pointed out, oozing sarcasm as he pulled out his pack of cigarettes, “You should’ve put a coat on. It’s cold out here.”  
“Thanks for pointing out the obvious. So glad you could take a moment to remind me why I never come to you for advice…” I countered, reaching for his pack to steal a cigarette for myself.  
“Here.” Mikey mumbled around the unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He took off his scarf and passed it to me. I wrapped it loosely around my shoulders and shivered in the cold.  
“But seriously,” Mikey went on, “Is it getting serious? Do I need to give him the ‘if you hurt my brother you die’ talk?”  
“I think that whole speech is kind of implied… in the fine print of the contract I made him sign the first time we held hand” I mumbled, accepting Mikey’s lighter and flicking it under the end of my cigarette.  
“I want to make sure it’s really fucking clear.” Mikey offered, exhaling tendrils of smoke. The wind quickly carried them away.  
The sun had disappeared beyond the horizon. The sky still faintly glowed orange out across the parking lot.  
“You know, I never asked… Do you approve of him?” I asked, handing Mikey his lighter back.  
“Have _you_ approved of everyone _I’ve_ dated? You don’t need my approval, Gerard.” Mikey sighed.  
“But this is different. You _know_ Frank. He’s in our band. You have to tour with him and shit...” I said.  
“I think… he’ll either be really, really good for you or really, really bad for you. You’re both really… _intense._ ” Mikey mused, “It all really doesn’t matter to me though. If you love him, you love him. The rest of us will just have to deal with it.”  
  
“What about the stuff with my uh… writing? Do you think the band will ever move past it?” I asked.  
“Bob’s tried to make a few jokes about how and Frank must be exceptionally... _kinky._ ” Mikey offered hesitantly, “I’ve punched him every time… more for my benefit than for yours… No offense.”  
“None taken.” I shrugged. “Anyways, what did you all day?”  
“I didn’t really do anything worth mentioning, but thanks for the subject change.” Mikey laughed.  
“Any time.” I laughed, trying to keep my teeth from chattering.  
“We can go back inside if you’re cold.” Mikey suggested, “I don’t really wanna smoke this and I know you don’t either… you just wanted to get away from Frank.”  
“Uh. Yeah. I don’t know if I can face Frank right now…” I admitted sheepishly.  
“Ah.” Mikey nodded, “Well, if Bob says anything else I’ll punch him. Cool?”  
“Cool.” I agreed.  
Mikey leaned against the fire door, looking surprised when it didn’t give way under his weight. I put a hand on the door, reasoning he just didn’t weigh enough to open the door. The door didn’t budge under my weight either. The door was locked from the inside.  
“Um, should we knock?” Mikey asked.  
“Nah. Let’s just go around.” I said.  
“We could just call Bob or Frank. Bob was just on his phone…” Mikey pointed out, raising an eyebrow.  
“That’s not necessary.” I insisted.  
“Uh. Ya. Sure. Okay. Whatever dude.” Mikey shrugged with a small smirk, following after me as I lead him away from the door. I could see another door down a short set of stairs.  
“This way.” I said, beckoning for him to follow me down the stairs.  
“Gee, are you okay? You seem kinda, I dunno… _off._ ” Mikey commented.  
“I’m fine. Just… I dunno.” I stammered, putting my weight against the door.  
It swung open with a loud squeak. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the room beyond. The place was dim and covered in cobwebs. Brooms and empty trash bins were strewn around the concrete floor. Discarded beer cans lay in a small pile in the corner.  
“Whoa. I’ve never been down here before.” Mikey gushed, reaching up to brush a cobweb out of his hair, “It’s kind of cool... Frank would hate it, though.”  
“Great. Let’s stay down here forever...” I sighed, “I bet no one would even care if we smoked cigarettes down here.”  
“Yeah but it’s still cold.” he pointed out, “And you left your jacket up in the green room. Come on, I think I see a door through there.”  
“I hope I develop hypothermia and catch a cold and can’t sing.” I mumbled, following Mikey through the room and nearly tripping over an empty beer bottle. To our luck, the door across the way wasn’t locked. It swung open under Mikey’s nonexistent weight, even. Beyond the door was a set of stairs that led up to the main hallway.  
“Huh, that must’ve been like, the janitor storage or something…. This is fun, Gee,” He mumbled.  
“Lets just find a place where I can quietly off myself…” I grumbled.  
“Maybe after the show…” Mikey joked, opening a random door and peaking inside.  
“I hope the ceiling collapses in the showroom and they have to cancel the show.” I went on, leaning against the wall beside the door, “I hope it kills me, but _just me_ … And I hope no one comes to my funeral because it’s raining so hard...”  
“Damn. You know… you’re really fucking tense for someone who spent all day fucking our rhythm guitarist.” he scoffed.  
“We didn’t-”  
“Oh shut up. You’re an awful liar.” Mikey interrupted in a bored tone. He must’ve been satisfied with whatever he saw because he closed the door and continued down the narrow hallway. It was quiet aside from our voices and footsteps, echoing softly.  
“I’m not lying Mikey.” I countered in a hushed tone.  
“Gerard,” Mikey sighed, as we rounded the corner and started down another hallway that looked vaguely familiar, maybe, if I squinted, “I really don’t want to go into details but there’s no way you guys haven’t hooked up already… Do you think this place is haunted, by the way?”  
“Just ask Frank. He’ll probably threaten your life instead of gloating about it.” I offered, opening another random door and peaking inside, finding a tiny office, “Of course it’s haunted.”  
“Gerard, you really can’t fool me.” Mikey intoned, glancing over my head at the weird stacks of overflowing files, “You both showed up with your shirts inside out. And you forgot my fucking coffee… There’s really only one explanation here.”  
“It’s not what it looks like.” I said, spinning around to glare at him. “Frank and I haven’t done _anything._ You have no idea how much I want him, Mikey. We have this like, _agreement… It’s complicated. It’s torture, really. ”_  
“Then why are both of your shirts inside out?” Mikey smirked.  
“Because…” I sighed, “We-”  
“Gerard turned his shirt inside out and then he didn’t like the way it looked...” Frank’s voice echoed down the hall, “So I turned mine inside out too. I was worried he’d never leave his apartment if I didn’t...”  
I wished so badly that my face could twist up and disappear. Actually, no, I wished my whole body would disappear. I couldn’t believe Frank had heard me talking about him. About _us._  
I stole a glance down the hallway and saw Frank smirking back at me. It took a second for my brain to register that he wasn’t alone either. Jamia, of all people, was standing next to him. I silently wished for death to take me.  
“Oh. Hey Jamia!” Mikey offered cheerily, cutting the awkward silence.  
“Hi Mikey!” She echoed, smiling back at us, “... Hi Gerard.”  
“Uh Gerard,” Frank said, clearing his throat, “Jamia was wondering if she could maybe talk to you for a minute?”  
“Oh he’d love to.” Mikey snorted, “We actually just found a place you wouldn’t want to go, Frank. Lots of spiders...”  
“Perfect.” Jamia giggled, starting down the hallway towards me and Mikey.  
I looked over at Frank and he just… fucking winked at me. The motherfucker. Oh God. I felt like a wounded animal being cornered by a predator with a locking jaw. Why on earth would Frank want to ambush me with his recently-ex girlfriend before our show?  
“But I don’t have a coat… It’s cold.” was the pathetic complaint that came out of my mouth.  
“We’ll only be a minute, I promise...” Jamia called back.  
“You can borrow mine?” Mikey offered.  
“Yeah. That’ll fit me for sure.” I scoffed.  
“You can borrow mine, Gee!” Frank’s voice echoed down the hallway.  
“Like you’re any bigger than me.” Mikey called out.  
As I watched Mikey walk away from me, I told myself I’d remember the moment forever so I could remind him of it when we were both in hell together. He glanced back at me over his shoulder, completely ignoring my silent, pleading look and just fucking... grinning at me.  
  
“Uh, Hey…” Jamia started once she was close enough to speak at a regular volume.  
“Hey.” I said, trying my best to smile as I made eye contact with the terrifying woman before me. My genuine fear of such a small, cheerful individual might have seemed misplaced, but she represented so many of my mistakes. I couldn’t help but fear her.  
I glanced past her and saw Frank and Mikey round the corner in the distance, leaving us completely alone. Jamia and I had always been friends by proxy of the fact that we had Frank in common. I’d hung out with her here and there at parties the record company hosted. Frank had met her through our previous label, after all... but all of that had been when I was her boyfriend’s bandmate. Now that I was her ex-boyfriend’s boyfriend slash bandmate, all bets were off. I braced myself for the part where she started screaming and crying.  
“So uh, are you gonna show me this spider room or what?” She asked calmly.  
 _“Depends…_ Are you gonna kill me down there?” I asked timidly, “Cause if you are, there’s a few more things I need to say to Mikey real quick...”  
“No Gerard.” Jamia laughed. “Why would you think that?”  
“Well…” I trailed off, beckoning for her to follow me back to the janitor’s breakroom.  
“Actually, Gerard, I’ll just come right out and say it…” Jamia started, glancing over her shoulder to make sure Frank and Mikey were out of earshot, “I just wanted to make sure we were cool.”  
“You and me?” I asked, glancing over at her.  
“Yeah. Are we cool?” She repeated, shooting me a hopeful look  
“Jamia…” I sighed, “I mean, yeah, we’re cool? I guess? But I fucking… ruined your relationship with Frank? You guys were fucking highschool sweethearts...”  
“Ah. I was worried you might think that.” She sighed, with a small smile, “You didn’t ruin our relationship at all, Gerard. It had _nothing_ to do with you as much as it had _everything_ to do with you. You know that, right?”  
“No.” I breathed, trying not to laugh hysterically, “What does that even mean? You broke up right after all my writing got discovered. Are you trying to to tell me that’s just a coincidence?”  
“It’s complicated. Frank and I were on thin ice as it was...” she explained, shaking her head, “Has he really let you think that it was your fault all this time?”  
I kind of just gaped at her, not knowing how to answer.  
“I’m going to kill him.” she sighed, “This is _exactly_ what I was worried about.”  
“What do you mean?” I asked, glancing around to see if Frank had hidden any other ex-girlfriends he wanted to throw at me while he was at it.  
“He just… it’s like you said, we were highschool sweethearts. He still treats relationships like he’s in fucking high school.” She offered, “Come on, show me the damn spider room…”  
I lead her down the set of stairs I thought Mikey and I might’ve come up. I could see another set of stairs further down the hallway that looked almost identical.  
“This place looks like a fucking hospital.” Jamia commented.  
“Uh… yeah… That’s what I said.” I mumbled, pushing through the door, “Anyways, you were saying?”  
The room looked different when I entered it from the other side. It was creepier somehow. It seemed smaller, darker, colder, filthier…  
“Oh wow. Frank really _would_ hate it down here.” she laughed, eyeing the rust stains on the cement walls, “Anyways…. Frank and I had been together for so long, you know? We were sort of already over each other when we broke up. It was sort of, _thanks to you,_ but not _because of you.”_  
“If that’s your way of politely saying I ruined everything, I swear to God…” I moaned.  
“No, really. It was like…” She mused, “That whole scandal blew up and I realized that Frank deserved a shot at someone who could _really_ love him. Even if that someone wasn’t you... The longer we stayed together, the longer I was keeping him from figuring that part of his life out..”  
“I think we loved each other,” She went on, kicking at an empty beer can on the ground, “But we just weren’t… _in love_ anymore. I dunno, I didn’t come to dissect my relationship with Frank. Mostly I just wanted to clear the air. I was over at his place the other night and I know you guys have had some misunderstandings about that kind of thing...”  
“He told you about the Bert thing, huh?” I asked.  
“Only about 50 times.” She laughed, “He was _so drunk_ and _so hurt_. God, I’d never seen him so upset.”  
“That was uh… _very highschool_ of me actually, I suppose?” I shrugged.  
“I’m not saying what you did was right, but I know how Frank can be…” She tutted, “I know how he’s _been._ I see how something like that ended up happening… What’s on the other side of that door?”  
She pointed to the door Mikey and I had come through earlier.  
“Parking lot.” I mumbled.  
“Oh cool. Well, I don’t want to keep you…” She sighed, “I just wanted to make sure we were cool.”  
“We’re cool.” I nodded.  
“I couldn’t leave him before because... I didn’t know if he’d be okay without me.” She said, turning to push through the door back towards the hospital hallway, “But if he’s with you I think he’ll be fine.”  
“Um, thanks?” I said, following her up the stairs.  
“No, really. I think you’ll be good for him.” She went on, “He’s a lot of work, but he’s always loved you to pieces... I know you’ll love him right back.”  
“Yeah.” I sighed.  
I was waiting for someone to pull the carpet out from under me. Metaphorically speaking, of course. The narrow hallway was tiled with old, crinkled linoleum. I was waiting for there to be a catch. Jamia had practically given me her blessing rather than ripping my hair out. She was talking about Frank like he was a puppy I’d adopted, not a boyfriend I’d cruelly and unintentionally ripped from her loving arms.  
“Coming here was my idea by the way...” Jamia said quietly, “Frank and I had planned this a long, long time ago. See, I have a friend who wants to fuck the guitarist in one of tonight’s opening bands. She’s gonna show up later though. Frank had promised to introduce us to him...”  
“Oh. Uh, okay.” I laughed.  
“I’m glad we talked though.” She said, as we rounded the corner back towards the green room. I could see Frank and Bob standing outside the door, engrossed in something on Bob’s phone. Bob took the opportunity to kick Frank in the shin when he wasn’t paying attention. Frank returned the gesture with a firm shove. Bob was so much bigger than him, he hardly moved.  
“Me too...” I agreed softly, “Thanks for saying all that.”  
“Someone had to.” She laughed.  
Her singsong laughter floated down the hall. The second Frank heard it, he spun around to face us, eyes darting between the two of us.  
“Everything cool?” He asked nervously.  
“Yeah.” I nodded.  
“Cool…” Frank grinned.  
Bob’s gaze darted between the three of us in annoyed confusion. He wanted no part in whatever the fuck was going on. I could see it in his eyes.  
“Uh, anyways, J, your guy’s in there.” Frank said, grinning at Jamia and nodding his head towards the door, “I need to, um, talk to Gerard for a moment.”  
“You said you’d introduce me, Frankie.” Jamia tutted, furrowing her brow, “You know I hate talking to strangers.”  
“Well, uh, Bob here would be happy to introduce you.” Frank said, shoving at Bob, who was busy death-glaring back at Frank.  
As soon as Bob turned his gaze towards Jamia, the murder-gaze disappeared. A polite, cordial smile appeared in it’s place.  
“I don’t want to watch them make out anyways.” Bob intoned with a huge grin, pushing open the door to the green room and holding it open for Jamia.  
Jamia leaned in and mumbled something to Bob that made them both laugh.  
I watched the entire interaction in silent horror like if I was quite enough I could just be absorbed into the walls and be forced to haunt the godforsaken Jersey concert arena forever.  
As soon as the door was closed behind them, Frank cleared his throat loudly.  
When I glanced over at him he had a small, innocent smile on his lips.  
“Hey.” he said, grabbing my hand. I glanced around frantically and tried to jerk my hand away but Frank only tightened his grip.  
“What? People in bands hold hands all the time. It’s not weird.” He said, pulling me down the hall towards the abandoned corridor I appeared to be frequenting. One way with Mikey, another way with Jamia, a third time with Frank. How many times did I have to walk down a hall for it to qualify as a haunting?  
“So um,” Frank started, slowing his pace as we rounded the corner, “I didn’t mean to sic Jamia on you like that. I’d forgotten she was even coming tonight and then she wanted to talk to you....”  
“It’s fine. I like Jamia a lot actually, but I just… you could’ve fucking told me it like, wasn’t my fucking fault you guys broke up.” I pointed out bitterly.  
“You could’ve told me how badly you need to get laid. Looks, like we both need to work on communicating.” He shot back, letting go of my hand to put air quotes around ‘communicating.’  
“That’s hardly related.” I breathed, feeling myself blush.  
“Whatever, Gerard.” He chuckled, spinning around to face me. The next thing I knew he was pushing his lips against mine. It was innocent and sweet and gentle. He wrapped his arms around my neck and pulled himself closer to me, gently parting his lips. With his cool, sweet breath came this flood of relief. Even if he was being an asshole, he was still the only asshole I wanted to kiss.  
“Frank, what if someone finds us like this?” I whispered, trying to pull away.  
 _“Nobody’s fucking looking for us, Gerard.”_ he laughed against my lips, “I promise. Besides… it’s normal for members of a band to kiss like this. If anyone asks, we can just politely explain that it’s none of their fucking business.”Satisfied with his argument, he tugged at my bottom lip with his teeth playfully, daring me to kiss him back.  
“I don’t want you to kiss anyone else the way you kiss me.” I blurted out softly, regretting it immediately after.  
“Well, you won’t ever have to worry about that.” he whispered.  
He leaned in and kissed me again, less innocently.  
“By the way, why the fuck does everyone have this expectation that we’ve already hooked up?” he asked softly, “Don’t you think it’s kind of fucked up that everyone has an opinion on it? Cause like, that means everyone’s **_thought_** about it.”  
“I mean, I guess it’s fucked up, yeah.” I supplied nervously.  
“I just want it to happen naturally… unplanned…” he explained, ghosting his lips over my cheek.  
“Me too.” I whispered.  
He pushed me against the wall behind me and leaned into me. I could feel his breath on my neck and it made me _weak._  
“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted it so bad?” He whispered against my ear, “You know you can tell me about stuff like that. We had plenty of time earlier… I would’ve been more than happy to give it to you.”  
“Date first, right?” I gasped out softly, “But, you know, we have some time... Now, I mean.”  
“There will be lots of opportunities to fuck in broom closets once we’re on tour.” He supplied deviously, “I want you on a bed.”  
“There might be a bed here _somewhere?_ ” I mused, trying to keep my focus on not popping a boner, “The back seat of your car is sort of like a bed. It’s close enough...”  
“We’ll just have to wait til after the show.” He sighed, “I’m cool with making out for now.”  
Without further warning he crushed our lips together, pressing himself against me and shoving his tongue in my mouth. My brain short-circuited with the overload of sudden, frantic (but very welcomed) contact. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him closer. His fingers tangled in my hair as we kissed. The whole, ‘not popping a boner’ plan was going south fast.  
Frank only made matters worse when he abandoned my lips and went for my neck, tugging at the back of my hair as he bit sloppy, wet kisses into the tender skin.  
“You’re going to mess up my hair…” I protested weakly.  
I bit back a gasp as he slid a hand down my back and squeezed my ass. I was lucky he’d picked the side of my jeans the blood capsules weren’t in. I was surprised they’d survived as long as they had without bursting. I’d completely forgotten about them when we’d been in the car. With my luck, they’d probably melted together.  
“You’re hair looks better messed up.” He offered, covering my mouth with his.  
The taste of his mouth was so familiar, it was comforting. He was all cigarettes and sweetness. I got lost in it. I felt like a fucking teenager, sneaking around to make out with a guy I knew I shouldn’t be seen with.  
“Oh, gross!” a familiar voice groaned, pulling me out of my silent bliss.  
Frank and I broke apart to find Mikey at the end of the hallway, covering his eyes.  
“Bob owes me money.” he grumbled, “And I need to find some way to burn that image out of my brain… _quickly.”_  
“Wanna borrow my lighter?” Frank asked sheepishly.  
“I’m not even going to humor that with a response.” Mikey intoned, blinking wildly at the floor, “Anyways, I guess people are starting to line up outside… Ray and Bob were gonna go say hi. Maybe sign some stuff. You guys wanna come with?”  
“Uh… yeah!” Frank said, scratching the back of his head. “Sure. I can always play tonsil-hockey with your brother later.”  
“Frank,” Mikey sighed, still keeping his eyes off of us, “Look, dude, just because Gerard likes you does _not_ give you automatic immunity from knuckle sandwiches.”  
“Who’s gonna give me a knuckle sandwich?” Frank laughed, _“You?”_  
“If I have to.” Mikey shrugged. “Anyways, I’ll let you guys uh… whatever…”  
Mikey turned on his heels and disappeared around the corner back towards the green room.  
“Come on.” Frank said, grabbing my arm, “I wanna fight your brother.”  
“Please don’t.” I commanded in a tiny, unmenacing voice as I followed after him.  
“I’m just kidding, Gerard.” he laughed, “Lighten up.”  
As we rounded the corner, the rest of the band was waiting for us with Jamia and some guys I didn’t recognize in tow. Frank let go of me as soon as he saw them. I thought about pointing out that he’d said it was normal for us to hold hands, but the many pairs of eyes on me kept me quiet. Frank shot off after Bob. I thought I could see him jump on Bob’s back, but it was hard to tell around Ray’s fro.  
I slid into the green room to grab my coat, uninterested in ending up in the cold without one like I had earlier. By the time I slid the coat on and got back out to the hallway, everyone was already pretty far ahead of me. Jamia fell into step beside me at the back of the group as we all marched out of the venue.  
“You guys are gonna have such a hard time getting around to a real honeymoon phase.” She said softly, leaning in so that only I could hear, “I don’t envy you.”  
“A _what?_ ” I whispered nervously, feeling myself blush like crazy, “Frank and I aren’t like… We’re just dating. I don’t even know if he’s my…”  
“Oh my god.” She laughed, “You have no idea what the fuck I’m talking about, do you?”  
“No.” I mumbled, “I guess I don’t.”  
I could hear the distant roar of the crowd as we passed through the empty show room. Techs were busy wheeling around trunks of equipment and speaking into their 2-way radios all around us. I thought I heard Frank yell out an insult.  
“The honeymoon phase,” Jamia explained, threading her arm through mine, “Is that first part of the relationship where you’re just like, so busy falling in love with them that you can pretend that they’re perfect and that nothing will ever go wrong. You can pretend you won’t end up fighting about the same 5 things and hate them for how much they snore.”  
“But… Frank doesn’t snore?” I pointed out dumbly.  
“I’m speaking in hypotheticals.” She laughed, “But that’s beside the point, Gerard. What I’m trying to tell you is that you won’t ever get that part with him. You’ve both been deposited straight into reality. There’s no time to pretend.”  
“I guess that _does_ suck.” I said. The crowd outside got louder as we got closer to the door. Jamia pressed closer to me as we squeezed our way out into the night. The wind carried voices and a cocktail of cigarettes, perfume and BO.  
“It doesn’t have to suck.” She pointed out, voice straining over the sounds of the crowd, “It just won’t be the fairytale it could be. Just… take care of him. _Make sure_ he takes care of you. Your band is still going places in spite of everything. Remember that.”  
“I will.” I said, “Thanks…”  
“Don’t mention it.” She said, smiling at me before disappearing into the sea of anxious and excited show-goers.  
I was lost in the crowd, stopping to talk to strangers with brightly-colored hair and nylon and tight black everything as fans started to recognize me. Nobody asked about the fanfiction. All anyone could talk about was the rumors that we’d be dropping a new album and without hesitation, I told them the rumors were true. Mostly I was just trying not to blow smoke in people’s faces or light anyone’s product-filled hair on fire as I chain-smoked through the half-hour before the doors opened to ticket holders. I’d almost forgotten about the blood capsules in my back pocket again and cursed myself for not putting them somewhere safe. They had definitely melted together in my pocket. I could just tell. It was nice to be surrounded by people that liked my music. For a moment I even lost my pre-show jitters. It felt nice to be so present, so in-the-moment. It was the first time in a long time that I felt like everything might actually turn out to be okay.Occasionally I’d look up in search of a familiar face. I wanted to see Frank. I needed the comfort I found in his smile. But I would’ve honestly settled for Mikey or Ray or even fucking Brian. I felt so alone in the neverending parade of unfamiliar faces.  
When it was getting to be too much for me the doors finally opened and the attention of the crowd was refocused on getting inside. It was then that I realized I wasn’t wearing any sort of artist identification.  
There was a chance the people working the doors would recognize me, but with the volume of people swarming in they’d be hesitant to let me through. I spun around in a circle as I tried to figure out what the fuck I was going to do. Being the only person who wasn’t pushing their way towards the door I’m sure I looked out of place. I reached for my phone to call Mikey or Ray or someone, when I felt a hand slide into mine. I expected to find a fan beside me and was surprised to instead find Frank grinning at me.  
“Why do you look like a little boy that just lost his parents?” he asked, nodding his head towards the parking lot. I took it as a sign to follow after him, away from the bustling crowd.  
“I forgot to get a badge earlier... I was just trying to figure out how the fuck I was going to get back inside.” I laughed.  
“Like the people working the doors wouldn’t recognize you.” he scoffed, letting go of my hand to pull out a cigarette. He pointed the pack in my direction and I shook my head.  
“It’s happened before.” I shrugged, “Where are you taking me anyways?”  
Frank was still slowly leading us towards the parking lot. The sun had vanished completely. The endless rows of parked cars seemed to stretch on forever into the darkness. It felt wrong to follow after him somehow, in the same way it must’ve felt wrong for a ghost to try and leave its haunting parameters.  
“I don’t know? We have some time to kill. Ray’s mostly forgiven me, but I think he’d get mad all over again if I disappeared for too long.” he said.  
“Well… let’s go watch the opener then.” I suggested, beckoning for him to follow me back towards the venue.  
“Wanna try to sneak in?” He asked with a glint of excitement in his eye.  
“I can just call Mikey and have him come get us.” I said, shaking my head.  
“Oh _come on,_ what’re they gonna do? Kick us out?” he laughed, “We’re _headlining._ ”  
“Frank.” I sighed.  
“Come on, Gerard.” He sing-songed, dragging me back towards the line of people crowding into the venue, “We’ll just duck under some punk kids and slide right in. I’ll break right and you’ll break left. Don’t tell me you’ve never done this before.”  
He glanced back at me, devious expression softening as he took in my unease.  
“Unless you don’t want to?” he amended.  
“No, I want to… I just…” I sighed.  
“What’s the worst that could happen?” he asked, taking a step closer and framing my face with his palms. He didn’t even check to see if anyone was looking before leaning in and pecking my lips. It was so strange. It was almost like, in crossing through that creepy old breakroom with Mikey, I’d been deposited into an alternate reality where Frank wanted me more than anything else. The boy who stood before me cared more about us than his career and it was making my chest ache.  
With that chest ache, I took my hand in his and lead us into the crowd, bending my knees slightly so that my head was no longer floating above those around me. Frank, given his height, had no problem blending in with the others. No one said anything to us about cutting in line. I could hear the security team up ahead, separating the ticket-holders and those on the willcall list into lines. I ducked behind a chubby kid with a giant mohawk, while Frank somehow squeezed behind a frail-looking girl in a duct-tape corset.  
I guess I just didn’t get it. If security caught us, I’d have to go through the embarrassment of explaining that my rhythm guitarist just had a knack for getting into trouble. Getting caught was all I could think about. When I looked over at Frank, he obviously wasn’t thinking about it at all. He had the biggest grin plastered across his face.  
The line was inching closer and closer to the entrance. There were just a few more people ahead of me.. And then there was just the dude with mohawk in front of me. As he stopped to show the security member his ticket, I made a break for it, charging into the darkness of the venue. I headed left, just as Frank told me to.  
I was certain I’d gotten away with it, hiding behind a group of teenaged girls all standing in a circle… until I saw a yellow jacket and a flashlight headed after me. I thought about running but I didn’t want to trouble the security team any more than I already had.  
“Can I see your ticket please, sir?” the guy asked, shining his flashlight in my face.  
“I um… I don’t have one.” I said, biting my lip. I couldn’t help but smile at the stupidity of the situation Frank had thrown me into.  
“I’m going to need you to come with me then.” he said, lowering his flashlight.  
It was strange to do the walk of shame alongside a bouncer when I hadn’t technically done anything wrong. I could feel curious eyes of the people standing around focused on me.  
“Excuse me, he’s with me. He’s my plus one.” Frank said, appearing out of nowhere to flash his badge at the security member like he’d done it a million times before.  
“Is he on the list?” the bouncer asked, motioning for us both to follow him towards a table by the entrance.  
“No. He doesn’t need to be on a list. He’s Gerard Way, frontman of My Chemical Romance” Frank shot back in a bitchy tone, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
“I’m going to need to see some ID.” the bouncer insisted.  
“These two idiots are with me.” a familiar voice said. I turned to find Brian standing beside us, “I’ll take it from here.”  
“Alright, Brian.” the bouncer huffed, “Please make sure all guests are on the list and have a valid form of ID.”  
“Will do.” Brian nodded, “I apologize for any inconvenience.”  
Brian waved a hand, gesturing for Frank and I to follow after him. Brian and Frank both showed their badges to backstage security and then we were in the fucking hallway again.  
“I’m glad you two are talking again.” Brian said, “That makes my job easier. _Sort of…_ What the hell was that?”  
“It was my idea.” Frank said, He sounded more like a guilty little kid who’d just been caught shooting spit balls than a grown man who’d just tried to sneak into his own show.  
“I couldn’t have figured that one out on my own.” Brian offered sarcastically, smiling at Frank.  
Frank just shrugged, giving up on trying to be helpful.  
“I’d just like to remind you two that there are some very important executives in attendance tonight. Please try your best to not do anything else to piss off the venue staff.” Brian instructed.  
He was looking at Frank as he said it, too.  
We both nodded silently.  
“Now…” Brian sighed, “Ray is already up on stage, helping the opener set up. Why don’t you two go watch from the side of the stage? I’ve heard they’re really quite good… and Gerard, I’ll to it that someone brings you a security clearance badge?”  
“Okay...” I offered weakly, “Thanks, Brian.  
“No, thank you.” Brian replied sarcastically, “I’ll see you two later.”  
The stage door was on the other side of the hall from the green room. Frank and I made our way to the stage, dragging our feet as we went.  
“See that was fun.” Frank said softly, checking over his shoulder to make sure Brian was out of earshot.  
“Brian hates us.” I groaned.  
“He loves us.” Frank countered, “Or, he loves _you_ anyways. He could totally tell I put you up to that.”  
“Yeah, but I mean, I went along with it.” I said, holding the stage door open for Frank. He batted his eyelashes at me sarcastically and held his hand over his heart as he passed me.  
“Whatever. Now you can’t ever say you never snuck into your own show.” he chuckled.  
  
We found a place to sit that was out of the view from the crowd, behind the amps, stage left. In spite of Frank’s earlier bravery, he sat a considerable distance away from me. At first I felt this odd, overwhelming sense of rejection by it. If it had been a few hours earlier I probably wouldn’t have even noticed that it was two or three feet instead of two or three inches. But even Frank, being the little shit that he was, seemed to know when enough was enough and had no interest in pushing Brian’s buttons any further.  
I tried to keep my focus on watching Ray help the other band’s guitarist out. The guitarist looked bored out of his mind, but at the same time, grateful that Ray was doing all the work. My attention drifted back to Frank, of course. When I looked over at him, he turned his head and winked, smiling at me sadly.  
Eventually Ray was done helping the opening band and sat in the space between Frank and I to watch their set. Their music was a lot different than My Chem’s. It held the same macabre atmosphere but it was softer. There was no punk background. Ray was tapping his foot by the end of their set, while Frank, on the other hand, just looked bored.  
Before I knew it, it was time for us to go on. The other band had warmed up the crowd and deserted the stage. The audience was buzzing, waiting for more. I was buzzing right along with them. I saw Mikey with his bass and Bob with his drum sticks across the stage. Brian was by their side, gazing around like a concerned parent. Ray handed Frank a guitar hooked into an extra long amp cable to give him free range of the stage.  
Bob was the first to walk on, sitting behind the drumset and experimentally tapping against the kickdrum a few times. The crowd started to wail with anticipation. Mikey followed soon after, getting into position towards the front of the stage. Ray and Frank walked on after. Following Bob’s queue, they all started playing without me.  
For a split second I tried to picture what it would actually be like without me, how rare it was that I was the person that was supposed to go up there and complete the picture, how easy it would be to lose it all somehow.  
I snapped out of it when a sound tech handed me a microphone and gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. I took a step forward, and then, suddenly I was floating forward. Performing was always an out of body experience but usually I didn’t think about it. It hit me in such a strange and profound way. All of a sudden I was standing before hundreds and hundreds of people, drawling into the mic about my love-hate relationship with the only state I’d ever wanted to die in:  
  
New Jersey.  
  
 _“New Jersey.”_ I growled, _“I fucking love you.”  
_  
And then I was singing. And then I was on the ground and singing, trying my hardest not to crush the blood capsules before I could get them into my mouth. And then I was leaning into the crowd. The sea of hands pulled at me and I pulled right back, gripping blindly at strangers all shouting the lyrics back at me.  
In that moment I missed Bert. His presence. His pull. His energy.  
The band transitioned into the second song without hesitation, dragging the crowd along with high, nervous energy.  
I asked myself what Bert would do if he were here...  
I turned my back on them for just a moment’s time during the closing guitar solo, reaching into my pocket to pull out the melted clump of blood capsules. I shoved them into the back of my mouth and turned back to the crowd, biting down hard on the capsules and letting them ooze out between my lips. I felt a little sorry for the kids in the front when some of the blood oozed onto them.  
I knew better than anyone that it was never coming out of their band t-shirts, but if the expressions on their faces were anything to go by, they wanted it that way.  
I spit some of the blood out. The taste was bitter and vile. It dribbled warmly down my chin and onto my shirt.  
I heard a loud whine from Frank’s side of the stage and turned to make sure everything was alright. The look on his face went from horror to understanding to smug satisfaction and as he played his last riffs, he darted towards me, wrapping his arms around my neck and crushing our lips together. It was far from a polite peck. It was rough and desperate and… profoundly romantic in spite of the incredibly poor timing. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever heard such unholy screeches from my fans before, but I heard them that night, loud and clear.  
So much for trying to not push any of Brian’s buttons… Abortive alarms were going off all over inside my head as I tried to grasp back at Frank, arms navigating ungracefully around the guitar that hung from his shoulders. The bitter taste of the fake blood mixed with his cigarette taste. It was awful. It was all I needed.  
  
When Frank pulled away, he was a bloody smeary mess. Before I could even figure out what the fuck I was supposed to do next, he grabbed the microphone out of my hand and grimaced into it.  
“I don’t, uh,” He faltered, still looking into my eyes, “I don’t know if any of you out here tonight have ever tasted fake blood but it’s… it’s disgusting. It’s awful. I’d… sorry this is gross, but I’d rather uh… I don’t know, what would you rather do Gerard?”  
“I’d rather kiss a girl.” I deadpanned, grabbing the mic back from Frank, “ _A dead girl, I mean._ I’d rather kiss a corpse.”  
Frank laughed as he backed away to his corner of the stage, spitting out as much of the fake blood as he could.  
We were _so fucked._ I could feel it in every fiber of my being.  
But the show had to go on…  
I made a signal at Bob, urging him to tick off into the third song, spitting out the slimey, bitter substance. By the fourth song, I could practically feel it staining my skin. By the fifth, it was caking onto my face in a sticky mass that clung to everything it touched. The microphone was sticky in my hands.  
I was ashamed to say I could feel myself running out of steam.  
Frank was making up for what I lacked, maneuvering around the stage with too much inconsiderate energy, like a puppy who’d been granted too long of a leash. Mikey and Ray stayed in their respective places, trying their best to keep out of his path of destruction.  
I was having an out-of-body experience by the last song… I was singing all the right words, but none of them felt real. I didn’t feel real. I felt like I was on the verge of passing out.  
  
By the time I was walking off stage, I was a sweaty, sticky, useless mess. If someone flicked me I would’ve fallen over with the force of it. I kept my eyes on the ground, not wanting to know what anyone was thinking about me and Frank, and our matching red-stained lips.  
“Gerard, I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.” Frank was saying from somewhere to my right, “You know how I get when I’m out there.”  
“Yeah, I know.” I nodded. Because I did know. I knew all too well.  
“I love you.” He said, leaning in so no one else could hear.  
“Back at ya.” was all I could muster, and then we were back on stage for the encore. If you asked me what songs we played, I couldn’t honestly tell you. All I know is that somehow, Bert was there and he had more fake blood with him. Someone had given him a mic and he had an arm wrapped around my shoulder as we belted out a few more songs. He emptied out a bottle of the vile, staining substance onto the crowd, thoroughly soaking the front row.  
I was dead on my feet, which only made me feel alive somehow. I felt real again. Only reality could be so harsh. The bad feeling in the pit of my stomach wouldn’t go away.  
The sound from the bloodied crowd was deafening, and honestly, it was the only thing that made it all okay.  
  
 _Finally it was over._ Bert grabbed my arm and dragged me off the stage, handing me a towel and a bottle of water as soon as we were out into the miserable fucking hallway. I could tell I was going to have an issue with long, hospital-like hallways for a long time. I saw Mikey and Bob and Ray all file into the green room. Bert and I stayed under the painful industrial lighting of the hallway.  
“How ya feelin?” Bert asked, staring into my eyes with concern.  
“I uh, I don’t know.” I shrugged, “I’m really tired.”  
“Yeah. You don’t look so good.” he offered, “Let me go find Brian and tell him I’m getting you the hell out of here.”  
“I can’t.” I said, shaking my head, “I’d love to go somewhere with you. Anywhere. But uh, I have a date, actually.”  
“A date?” Bert asked, his face lighting up.  
“Yeah, um, with Frank.” I nodded.  
“Fucking finally.” he laughed, “So no afterparty, then?”  
“Not tonight.” I sighed.  
“That’s a shame.” he grunted, “For me, anyways.”  
“Yeah.” I agreed.  
“Listen, uh, don’t let him wife you up too quick.” Bert said, “Promise you’ll still come party with me.”  
“I promise.” I nodded, “Um, sorry this is unrelated, but how the fuck did you get in here?”  
“I snuck in through the front entrance?” He said, “Why?”  
“No reason.” I smiled, “Just… Thanks for showing up. I needed you out there tonight.”  
“Anytime.” he laughed.  
  
The stage door squeaked open and out popped Frank and Brian. The lower half of Frank’s face was still tinted a guilty pink.  
“Gerard.” Brian intoned cheerily.  
“Brian.” I nodded.  
“Are you free tomorrow, around… 1pm?” He asked, “I know it’s early but it’s sort of… important.”  
“I can be.” I shrugged.  
“Good. Swing by my office, will you?” he requested.  
“Sure.” I said, “But uh, what for?”  
“Legal wants to have a chat with you and Frank here.” He said, “Nothing serious, just… business.”  
“Uh, yeah.” I nodded, swallowing hard, “Business. Sure.”  
“Great.” Brian said, patting my shoulder, “I’m gonna tie up some stuff with the venue people and call it a night. You did great out there, by the way.”  
“Thanks, Bri.” I smiled.  
“I’m proud of you.” He said, glancing between Frank and I.  
“Thanks, Bri.” Frank repeated, finally speaking up.  
“Have a nice night, you two.” he said, turning on his heels and disappearing back through the stage door. The sound of the door closing behind him echoed down the hallway.  
It all had happened too fast for me to even process any of it.  
"Just for the record," Frank said softly, resting his head on my shoulder, "I said 'blood on my hands,' not 'blood on my lips.'"  
"Same difference." I sighed.  
“Anyways um, I think we’re in a lot of fucking trouble.” he sighed.  
“Yeah... I think so, too.” I agreed, turning to kiss the top of his head.


End file.
